


Past Always Catches Up

by NutheadGee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A Lesson In African Geography, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dominant!Reaper, F/M, Flashbacks, Humor, I'm Too Far In The Trashpit, Masturbation, No One Has CHills, Orgasm Denial, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Sarcasm, Smut, Some angst, Strong Female Characters, The thirst is real, Watch Me Bullshit My Way Around International Relations, We Travelling All Over The World, from everyone, mentions of human trafficking, so much sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NutheadGee/pseuds/NutheadGee
Summary: It's been about a decade after the disaster that was the Swiss HQ of Overwatch blowing up,  and you simply decided to cut your losses and go on with your life as an assassin for hire, using your reputation as one of the most brilliant and infamous snipers in Blackwatch, second to your mentor. You love your job, the pay is good, and it keeps you constantly in your old habits, and you are contemplating doing this for a long time, before Talon requests your services, because they claim you have a skillset that no one else in your line of work has.Talon isn't lying on that front, but your past comes back to confront you, and for the first time in your life you're hesitant as to whether you should bulldoze straight through it the way you normally did, or run away, and the two people you abhorred the most and who played a big role in your losing the only home you ever had are involved in these shenanigans, which isn't making your life any easier. Nobody should even get you started on your very brilliant, very undead and very sexy former boss.You were way too old for this shit.





	1. Welcome to Talon...for now

**Author's Note:**

> What is self-control?
> 
> I don't know. Anyway, here ya go. I promised, I have delivered.

You were way too old for this shit.

“Are you done yet?” a female voice came from the other end of your earpiece, curt, entitled, heavily accented - a Scandinavian country, no doubt, though you couldn’t place which one exactly -, slightly irritated. You heard her exhale, and you thought she was probably smoking. Nerves. You considered deliberately delaying the process, just to get her more on edge. You absolutely  _ abhorred  _ clients like this, though technically she wasn’t your client. Her boss was. She was just as assistant perhaps? P.A.? You didn’t know and didn’t care, though you probably should; the pay was good, and with the exception of the past couple of hours, she normally left you alone. You wondered what her problem was today.

It was a lovely spring evening in Singapore. The temperature was comfortable, and the humidity wasn’t as stifling as normal. It would have been a good evening to stay at home and indulge in some good scotch, but alas, your life could not allow you that privilege too often. At least you could look forward to it after this job, and your bank balance would have significantly more zeroes to the left of the decimal once the payment for this job would go through. You had been working for about six months straight, hopping from continent to continent, and you weren’t as young as you once were. Maybe a two week holiday would do you some good. Your mood brightened slightly when you thought about it.

“If you don’t trust me to get this job done, you could always wire me what you owe me and explain to your boss why his former business partner isn’t quite lying in a pool of his blood yet and I can leave and you can go through the trouble of looking for and hiring another assassin, Ms. Timmers,” you quipped, finding an excellent and comfortable position to set up your rifle. “I remember distinctly telling you that the act will take exactly four minutes, from when I begin setting up my rifle to when I take the shot, and I will inform you when I start working. Or has English comprehension suddenly become difficult for you in the past hour?”

You swore you could hear her gritting her teeth, and pettiness made you smirk. You had gotten to her, which was the point from the beginning. “I do not appreciate your tone, Otete. I am paying you for a service-”

“Correction:  _ your boss  _ is paying me for a service that I am yet to perform and I can’t perform it properly if you keep nagging me. So if you don’t appreciate my tone how about you do your part to ensure that you don’t hear it, hmm?” You didn’t mean to sound that rude - you rarely lost your cool during shots - but Ms. Timmers was one of the more difficult representatives of a client, and you were not in the mood for it this evening.

You definitely should have taken that public relations class your commander had offered you all those years ago.

“Beginning now,” you muttered, you voice quieter as you took out the components of your sniper rifle from your backpack. You automatically switched channels, before Timmers decided that you needed to hear more of her whining. The other channel was dead quiet, but you knew better. You had been in this business for a very long time and as much you weren’t a technological expert, you had worked in this line of work long enough to be able to recognise when someone had managed to hack into your system, one that you had built and maintained  _ yourself. _

Of course, you weren’t surprised at the hacker managing to infiltrate your system. She was definitely brilliant, and her reputation preceded her.

“You know Sombra, if you’re going to take about three minutes of your precious time hacking my system, couldn’t you be at least courteous enough to wait for me to finish this job I’m doing? We’re both very well aware I have no jobs after this, and that I would be more than happy to work with your organisation.”

The line was still dead silent. You had just finished assembling your rifle, and you were taking your position, peering into the scope for your target, lining your hand on the trigger. Suddenly you heard a snicker, and you knew she had gotten your message.

“Give me about two and a half minutes. Meet me at the ground floor of this building. Snort if you’re with your pals. Stay quiet if you’re not. Let me just take this shot and deal with the whiner on the other channel. Also, please get out of my network when we meet. Your boss will have all the information he needs from me if I decide to take this job offer of yours whatever it is,  though I don’t understand why you need to hire me, since I’m sure you have access to someone who has my skillset. Anyway, we’ll talk about it in detail later.”

You took aim, and when you were one hundred percent sure you would hit your target, you pulled the trigger. Less than two seconds later, your target was slumped over his table, blood staining his what was no doubt, very expensive tablecloth. There was pandemonium in the room, as no one knew what was happening, your shot so clean and so accurate it had passed straight through the glass without shattering it and into the back of his head, the bullet probably still lodged in his brain. You calmly began disassembling your rifle, informing Ms Timmers that your work was done, before you made your way to the ground floor of the building.

Welp, there went that holiday you were dreaming of.

…

You had to admit, you were extremely amused, and apparently so was Sombra.

Her colleagues, on the other hand, were anything but, and for some reason that made you even more amused.

You started with Amélie Lacroix, or as she is known by her more infamous moniker, Widowmaker. Her face, you supposed was supposed to convey indifference, but going by her pouting and the slight furrowing of her brow, you thought she looked more exasperated than anything. Her eyes were absolutely beautiful, but her outfit wasn’t what you’d expect someone in the profession to wear. Way too revealing and too tight, particularly the cleavage, which you considered very unnecessary. You had to admit, however, that she was extremely  _ stunning,  _ more than anything, and you wished you were half as attractive even when you were as young as she was now. You’d heard about the blue tint of her skin, and you remembered crying back in the day when you found out the reason why she was so, and as far you were concerned Talon were absolute  _ monsters  _ for making her so and it was one of your sole purposes in life to destroy them once and for all.

Alas, how the table had turned and how times had changed. You chuckled sardonically.

“What is so funny?” she asked you, something akin to impatience inflected in her heavily accented voice. You smirked at her, and the narrowing of her eyes indicated that you shouldn’t  _ dare,  _ because she had heard that line about a million times, and you had no doubt in your mind that a great majority of the time the person that had told her what you were about to say had ended up poisoned rather terribly via the brace on her left arm, which was quite impressive, if you had to say so yourself. Maybe they’d tell you where you could get one. Even her boots were heels. The French truly were the most extra nationals you had ever come across.

However, not only were you petty, but you were also one hundred percent sure she wouldn’t kill you, because she’d get into trouble with her superiors. “Your outfit is extremely impractical for your line of work.”

“And yours is practical?” she snarled at you, her eyes roving down your open jumper, hood flapping behind you, your fitting crew t shirt, your cargo khakis and your Timberland Boots.

“Of course it is. I’m able to hide myself, if necessary, fight also if necessary, and I’ll always know that my titties are safe and sound within the confines of my bra.”

You could tell you had gotten to her, but already she had gotten over it, her face back to neutrality. That reconditioning they must have done to her must have been pretty intense. Anyone else would have to be held back from clawing your face off.

Next, you turned to Sombra, more than anyone else the reason you were currently standing there, analysing them all. She also looked gorgeous with her black and purple outfit, especially her hair and her nails. Her toe shoe things were the only thing you were questioning regarding her fashion sense generally, but other than that she looked great. Perhaps you could also accredit her age, but her makeup, especially her eye make up, was also very well done. 

Perhaps you should have defected to Talon too. If their upper end employees, if you could even call them that had the time to look this phenomenal, then either the pay or benefits, or maybe even both must have been very good.

“I really love your hair. And your nails. I mean, generally your whole outfit is pretty dop but mostly your hair,” you said, genuine in that compliment.

She perked up and flashed you a smile. “Thank you,  _ señora.” _

Finally, you turned to the third member of their party. Admittedly, you were slightly apprehensive of meeting with him, because you’d heard things. You didn’t know whether to be terrified or ecstatic, so for now you chose to reserve your judgement.

Predictable, he was dressed up in all black, the armour, the shotguns and the multiple cartridges on his chest and on his hips still the same. You could see traces of his dark grey skin, with very thin traces of red, only seen with those who were extremely observant. (You couldn’t help it. You were a sniper. Looking for details was almost subconscious as far as you were concerned at this point). His boots were also the same, still polished to a dull matte. You itched to take off the mask, to see those two scars on his right cheek, the thick, black curly hair, the neatly trimmed beard. The gloves also seemed to have gotten an upgrade, ahrp metal claw-like contraptions on the edge.

In some ways he was very different, as Reaper, but the fundamentals were still the same: his stance, his body language, the shade. You wanted to chuckle, but the sound was stuck somewhere in your throat. Only  _ he  _ could develop a skill of being able to fucking shade someone  _ through his mask. _ . He had still never changed, and there was a slight stirring at the pit of your stomach at that realisation.

“Hello Commander,” you said quietly, tilting your head slightly to the left, you lip twitching. “Long time no see.”

It was quiet for a few moments, before he responded.

“Stop calling me that,” he responded, his voice rough and gravelly, however, you noticed, not antagonistic. That was a good start. “It’s been a decade. I’m not your commander anymore.”

“You raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ll  _ always  _ be my commander, so you better start getting used to it, because if I actually accept this job of yours, that’s all I’ll be calling you.”

He grunted at that, and knowing Commander Reyes (or he would prefer Reaper?) that one grunt could communicate very many things. You chuckled this time, half in amusement, half in bitterness, because that grunt brought back a flood of memories, some that helped you sleep on many nights, and others that had you contemplating helping him in his task of hunting down certain individuals and taking your sweet time murdering them.

“You’ve never changed,  _ chaparro,”  _ he responded, making you smile,  _ actually  _ smile for the first time in years. It was very ironical that you’d have a mercenary, a sniper and a hacker invoke actual emotion in you.

“Alright, why are you guys so desperate to hire me that Sombra had to hack into my system when I was in fucking Singapore?”

“It was  _ El Jeffe.  _ He told us to. Apparently he has a job that we have to do, but we desperately need your skillset for it to be successful,” Sombra is the one that responded, Your eyes narrowed. Talon’s big guys? Personally requesting for you? This was going to get real nasty real quick. You could feel it in your bones.

“I’m way too old for this shit,” you grumbled, walking to stand next to Sombra. “Lead the way.”

You were either going to thoroughly enjoy this, completely regret this, or both. You gut instinct was leaning towards both.

…

You asked for them to give you about an hour to go collect some personal belongings, making Sombra laugh, Widowmaker frown and Reaper grunt. You raised an eyebrow at them.

“I’m sorry y’all. I’m not as young as I once was, if Sombra has informed you. I  _ need  _ to actually put in effort for my skin and my hair and my body, generally to look this good. And are you seeing how fresh my dreads are? Yes, effort. It’s very expensive, in terms of all resources, maintaining dreadlocks outside the African continent, because I actually need to find someone that won’t charge me Switzerland’s GDP to fucking retouch them,  _ who is actually good.  _ And don’t get me started on my skincare regimen. Do you know that most of these products are made for White Europeans, who because of the weather conditions their skin is naturally dry? I’m a tropical creature, and some of those products make my skin feel like sandpaper. I gotta age gracefully. I know black don’t crack, but it has to be  _ flawless.  _ So don’t you fucking dare judge me, especially not  _ you  _ commander. Don’t grunt at me, because  _ everyone  _ knows how fucking vain you are.”

“Are you always this dramatic?” Widowmaker asked, looking at what you didn’t doubt were perfectly manicured nails.

You turned to look at her, a definitely incredulous expression on your face. Reaper grunted again, but this one was much lighter (you strongly suspected he was masking a laugh there, but who were you to know) and you wondered if Sombra could actually breathe.

You had just encountered what the English coined true irony.

“Just wait for me at the third container port.”

_ What  _ were you getting yourself into?

 

…

“You truly have never changed.”

“Same, Commander.”

You were seated in the chopper, next to Sombra, with Widowmaker and Reaper sitting opposite you. It was pretty roomy, well, it had to be, considering this thing could very easily carry about thirty people.

You  _ were  _ travelling with elite after all. Maybe as you got older you could consider being a full time mercenary for them. They seemed to treat their top brass pretty well.

“We’re almost there,  _ señora.  _ I’m sure  _ El Jeffe  _ will be happy to see you.”

Well, this boss better have a good offer for you. You had left some really good quality scotch over at your house in Kilifi, not to mention you really wanted to try out that new mattress.

Not like this.


	2. The past, the present and the future

What, honestly, the fuck was real life?

You were slightly miffed, because you had come  _ all this way  _ to be told that you couldn’t see the boss. However, you genuinely felt sorry for the Talon operative that came forward to give the bad news.

Well, it wasn’t bad per se, more like annoying.

The poor man looked like he was going to pee on himself any second now. He was visibly terrified, eyes wide, swallowing nervously and his lower lip trembling as he stared at Reaper, who growled at him, making him jump. You nearly chuckled. He truly had never changed. Even when he was Commander Reyes he generally had no patience for what he considered incompetence.

“Show the guest to her quarters,” he snarled, and turned to you.

“They’re asleep. They’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, before promptly stalking off, followed by Widowmaker and Sombra, who waved at you as she skipped away.

“Please follow me to your quarters, ma’am,” the poor agent stuttered at you, immediately turning around and leading you in the general direction that the other three had headed off too. Well, guess it was time to sleep this fatigue off. You made a mental note to be a little more difficult in your negotiation for this job tomorrow, because, quite frankly, this was very rude.

...

Well, so much for a good night’s sleep.

For some reason, sleep had eluded you this night, and your mind could not stop thinking about your life, how you lived and how you had ended up here, where you were right now. So many things had happened to shape you into the person you had become. Your life had truly been a journey.

You remembered wishing your parents goodbye, taking the huge risk of simply walking into the Swiss embassy at eighteen and asking for a visa to go and join Overwatch, your acceptance letter in hand. All you had going for you was guts, instinct, and a completed high school degree. Your grades were not brilliant, but they were well above average, and you hoped that you’d end up being an international relations officer.

You remembered arriving, the sea of foreign faces around you, all kinds of people with different backgrounds and nationalities. However, you remembered the  _ condescending  _ tone most of the addressed you with. You later realised it was because of your age. Of course you never took that very well, and your responses always had some thinly veiled sarcasm behind them, just as mocking as the questions. You got in trouble for it a lot, but you always pointed out the discrimination against you because of your age. Your gender. Your skin colour. You were normally left alone after that, your trainers dropped it, which gave credence to your assessment that everyone knew there was a problem. Overwatch were always the loudest preachers of ‘equity’ and ‘equality’, but clearly, some people - some nations, races, genders and sexual orientations -  were definitely more equal than others, and you were definitely in the latter category.

Fast forward to two years and you had completed your training, and you ended up under the tutelage of one Ana Amari. You thought you’d be a terrible sniper: you lacked the patience, your handling of firearms wasn’t that great and you were terrified of fucking up and taking risks. However, Ana saw in you the almost scary attention to detail, your objective analysis to everything, and your slow and methodical way of thinking and decision making, traits she was sure, would drown out the negatives if put into proper use.

“With proper training you’re going to be a phenomenal sniper. Your skills are going to be very much sought after, and maybe, just maybe, if you impress me well enough I might put in a word for you to the Blackwatch Commander,” you remembered her telling you, patting down your newly twisted dreadlocks.

You almost dropped your (new) rifle. The Blackwatch Commander, Commander Gabriel Reyes.

He was tall, six foot one, lean, strong, chiseled muscle, large, intricate tribal tattoo on his left bicep, thighs that could simultaneously crush a man into nothing but flesh, blood and bone shards  _ and  _ cause a nun/priest to seriously consider indulging in their carnal desires, curly, thick black hair, close shaved on the back and sides of his head, unruly mop on top. Afro Latino, fluent in English and Spanish. Never spoke much unless he felt he really had to, the only man you knew who’s belts had ammo cartridges more than anything else, dual wielder of what Torbjorn,  greatest engineer and resident weapons nerd termed ‘Hellfire Shotguns’. Those things were huge, and upon enquiry you realised one of them weighed about a kilo, fully loaded. You had seen him pop entire rogue omnics with those things, and it didn’t take rocket science to figure out that the recoil would send normal mortals spiralling several feet backwards. One of the two successful products of the Soldier Enhancement Programme, recruited straight from the US military, and Ana told you he was one of the most intelligent men she had ever had the pleasure of working with. He was also easily one of the sexiest men you had ever laid your eyes on. You had seen him five or six times in the corridors, all times with Ana, and you remembered the first time you were introduced to him as her protege, and he smirked at you, acknowledging you with a slight inclination of his head, and you only just refrained from fainting. How the man was so attractive was honestly beyond you. You always kept your mouth shut around him, because you were scared you’d make some very lewd comments and subsequently an absolute fool of yourself in his presence. You’d heard his roasts. They had made seasoned toughies cry. You didn’t want to be on the receiving end of them, though Ana tried to instigate you occasionally, cheekily asking why you were so quiet around the Commander. You had never found the hems of your shirts more fascinating.

Three and a half years later, you were receiving your first Blackwatch uniform, one of the very few snipers in the organisation. You were the youngest sniper at the time, and that was a personal achievement you were very proud of.

Life was good: you loved your job, loved the pay, liked your colleagues and thirsted over your boss. It was a decent eight or so years of your life, until the drama started. There were whispers, the local Swiss populace - which was always so friendly - started becoming more distant. Ana, your mentor and the closest thing you had to a mother in the ruthless hierarchy that was Overwatch apparently ‘died’, killed in a top secret mission. You begun hearing in the news how Overwatch was being blamed for a whole lot of things -  things that you knew happened, things that you had participated in, things you understood had to take place for the rest of the world to be safe - unsavoury things: assassinations, interrogations, detentions, torture, information gathering.

For the most part you ignored it. You tried to go on with your life, but your close family was aware, and they started enquiring. You told them your job never allowed you to talk about this kinda stuff (the truth) but then Blackwatch was exposed to the international community, a secret organisation within Overwatch that was accused of everything: from corruption to weapons proliferation to human rights abuses. There were allegations, within Overwatch itself, that there were moles in the organisation, and all moles were in Blackwatch. Commander Reyes came under fire, grilled by UN Committee after UN Committee.  Rinehardt was the only one who came to his defence, both publicly and privately. Ana would have too, but she was “dead”, counter-sniped in the only operation she had ever failed in her over forty year career. Commander Reyes was the head of a  _ covert ops  _ organisation. The whole point of a covert ops division is to be secretive and perform the sleazier duties, something that, ironically, the UN was very well aware of. Why wasn’t Strike Commander Morrison being grilled either?  _ Of course  _ he was aware of all this. He was the bloody  _ Strike Commander. _ Why was it only Commander Reyes that was in trouble? Rinehardt, one of Overwatch’s biggest defenders as well as its harshest critics addressed the main issue these numerous committees were avoiding: was it because of his race?

Barely twenty four hours later, Overwatch headquarters in Switzerland was blown to smithereens, Commander Reyes and Strike Commander Morrison were caught in the explosion. Their bodies were never found. You were on a mission in Macau then. You remembered Dr. Ziegler addressing the world at her last press conference. ‘Angel’ they called her. She even shed a couple of tears. You barely sat through the whole thing. You punched the television and threw it out the window. The Dr. Zeigler on the television then and the Dr. Zeigler you knew were two completely different people, and you hated both of them. Probably as much as you hated Strike Commander Morrison, “Blackwatch’s biggest ally in this trying time”.

It wasn’t long before you withdrew all your money from your current account and fled back to your home country, Kenya. The advantage you (and probably all the elite Blackwatch agents) had was that none of you were documented. You had all memorised your own profiles, and whatever paperwork you worked with was automatically deleted from the system within twelve hours, making your identities very fluid. You opened another account there, got a property in Kilifi, a small town on the Kenyan coast, and begun your new life as an assassin-sniper for hire. Your family knew you as a “weapons expert for international organisations” and a “consultant”. You hated lying to them like this, but in the long run, it was for their own good. Nobody knew who Maya Otete was, but everyone knew of the “Black Rhino”, your alias in Blackwatch, because you were always the first one to, quite literally, bulldoze everything in your way to get your mission objective completed, so you thought it was best to going back to being good old Maya, the eighteen year old kid who had landed in Zurich and taken a one hundred Euro cab somewhere North of Zurich into Overwatch HQ with an acceptance letter quietly requesting to be taken into HR. Ironically, most of the people who hired you knew you from your Overwatch days. You had a couple who knew you were specifically in Blackwatch, but somehow that made them fear you more. Ana had taught you how to smile sweetly at people, simultaneously communicating to them that you could murder them faster than they could realise, a skill you were eternally grateful for from Blackwatch.

Here you were now, in a very luxurious en suite room provided to you by your hosts, people you once swore to forever fight against. Some Fate somewhere was on a quest to entertain themselves using your life. You sighed, turning on your side and trying to will yourself to go to sleep. It was gonna be a bit of a day tomorrow, and you needed as much sleep as you could manage, even if it was going to be forced.

…

Either Talon was the most extra organisation in existence, or this was purely coincidental.

Considering who their elite operatives were, you were heavily leaning towards the former, which was a very good thing, because that meant you’d be a perfect fit.

You leaned in towards Sombra, only slightly taller than you. Why was  _ everyone  _ in the goddamn world taller than you?! “I thought you said I’d be dealing with one of your bosses. Why am I in front of a panel? Is this a fucking interview? I know all these guys from my Overwatch days.”

She snickered. “I don’t know,  _ señora.  _ We just relayed the information we were given.”

“Both of you shut up,” Reaper growled from somewhere behind us. Widowmaker looked bored out of her skin, though she almost always looked like that, so you weren’t entirely sure if she was actually bored.

“Ms Otete,” a lady addressed you. She was significantly more mature than you, and you could tell she had had a couple of visits to some plastic surgeon somewhere. Despite that, she was still strikingly beautiful, dyed, chestnut hair atop her head in a bun, piercing green eyes looking at you. One of those rocks on her fingers could service your rifle for about a year, and servicing your rifle was quite expensive.

“I appreciate you accepting to come with our agents to talk to us. You are quite difficult to reach.”

  1. What did Talon want?
  2. Would you accept their price, because you _knew_ they could afford it.



“Thank you. It’s quite...interesting being here. I’m a busy woman, you see, going round the world assassinating rich, stuffy individuals that other rich, stuffy individuals dislike. It’s the inherent nature of my line of work to be difficult to reach. You should know. You finance a terrorist organisation.”

You swore you heard Sombra snort next to you, and you could  _ feel  _ Reaper’s gaze boring through the back of your skull. Widowmaker raised an eyebrow at you. You gathered she could appreciate your lip, despite not necessarily approving of it.

The panel in front of you stiffened in their seats, and the gorgeous old lady’s beautiful eyes narrowed. You refrained from grinning. You needed to keep your tongue in check.

“I don’t appreciate your witticisms at this point in time,  _ Maya.  _ This is business, and we must all conduct each other professionally.”

Oh, you seemed to have hit multiple nerves. She addressed you by your name. “I apologise, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, into business. We need to you to accompany Reaper, Widowmaker and Sombra to the Kenyan coast. There are some people who are causing havoc there. You are a local: you understand the language and the culture, so people are most likely to be a bit less...apprehensive of you, more accepting. We need the four of you to go in and gather as much information as possible, and annihilate anyone that gets in your way. As you know, we need the Kenyan coastline in order to infiltrate our mines in the Democratic Republic of Congo, which is already unstable as is, and the Ugandan Revolutionaries in the Northern Forests aren’t being very cooperative. We cannot allow the United States, French and Chinese governments there first. We cannot have a repeat of Sierra Leone. Find out what is happening at the coast and return stability there,  _ at all costs.” _

You knew you would simultaneously love and hate this new fucking mission. You needed more information.

“Whereabouts on Kenyan coast? I know you’re far too busy to bother yourself with geographical facts about some African country you don’t give a fuck about, but the Kenyan coast is approximately nine hundred kilometres, from the Somali border to the Tanzanian border. I’ll need you to be more specific.”

For a moment the entire panel paused, discussing amongst themselves. Suddenly, imaged were brought in front of you, and the oldies were muttering to themselves, but you you saw where they were zooming in, where they wanted to concentrate their efforts.

“From Lamu to Vanga. Any specific towns?”

The lady - what was her goddamn name? You’d ask Sombra later -  pointed them out to you. “Forgive me, my tongue cannot pronounce these names.” You raised an eyebrow at her. You could bet your last paycheck she could pronounce some Polish word with zero vowels in it, but apparently pronouncing “Kwale” would be an issue. You, however, had gotten some disapproval for your snark, so you let it slide.

“Malindi, Watamu, Kilifi, Mombasa, Ukunda, Shimoni and finally Vanga. Are those the only places you want us to go have a look at?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes moved to the map again. This was your home. Something was brewing  _ in your home.  _

“Be honest with me here,” you said quietly, your voice taking on a more dangerous tone. Everyone seemed to have noticed. “Do you think former Overwatch bureaucracy has a hand in this?”

One of the gentlemen tightened his fist so hard that his knuckles were whiter than Reaper's mask. That answered your question, and for a split second, you were blinded with rage.

“I’ll send you a receipt for my services every fortnight. I expect prompt payment, because I can assure you I  _ will  _ deliver all those assholes heads to you on a platter.”

“We knew you’d cooperate. You were-”

“Don’t,  _ do not  _ for a split second think I’m doing this for _ you _ . This is business. I’m a mercenary,  _ expendable,  _ to you. Don’t think I donno if shit hits the fan you wouldn’t dump my ass as collateral damage. Do  _ not  _ test me,  _ ma’am.  _ I’m doing this for  _ my people.  _ It just happens to be my expertise, and we both want the same people dead. Don’t give me that ‘cooperation’ bullshit. You know who I am, you know what I was, and you know who I worked under. Just like my Commander here, I wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and pop your fossil head off.  _ You  _ are the one doing the cooperation here, because at the end of the day, your bank balance won’t make you immune to my bullets. _ ” _

You never intended for the words to come out that harshly, but you were  _ seething,  _ and the looks of sheer terror on their faces told you that they had gotten your message loud and clear.

You turned to your new team and inclined your head towards the exit. They followed you, and when you got out of the door you paused, as realisation dawned on your dumbass.

“Wait...where the fuck are we going?” You doubted you had ever sounded like a bigger idiot in your life.

Reaper chuckled, the sound low, rough, guttural and masculine. Heat swirled at the pit of your stomach. “This way,  _ chaparra.  _ It’s gonna be fun working with you again.”

Not now, hormones.  _ Not bloody now. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. First of all this chapter ended up a lot longer than I anticipated, and most of it is just boring reminiscing, but I feel like this information is very important in terms of plot, all of it, and I couldn't split it into different chapters. Please bear with me. The fun is coming. I promise.
> 
> Constructive criticism is very welcome. Don't hesitate to tell me if you loved it, hated it, was meh about it and what I need to improve, tone down on etc etc. Your reviews fuel my passion for writing!


	3. Haven't even started and the mission is already shit

“Okay, so first of all I need to call home up and tell my helps to make preparations for you guys when we get there. I also need to budget for food and bills that y’all will consume when we’re there. I also need to have a room arranged for where you’re all gonna keep your weapons and ammunition, because absolutely none of you is using my weapons room. I also gotta organise transport and logistics, and call up on some of my peeps to arrange accommodation for when we’re not in Kilifi. I also need-”

“Whoa, calm down there  _ señora _ . We just got here. We have about forty eight hours before we leave,” Sombra interrupted your ramblings. You stopped, looking at her and raising your eyebrow. It took a moment for you to remember that she worked for an organisation that did all this stuff for her. All she had to do was her job.

So you made it a point to remind her of this fact. “Sorry, Sombra. Talon is not gonna do all this shit for you, and contrary to what you believe, the forty eight hours you claim we have may not be enough to plan all this, because we gotta account for time differences and what not, not to mention this stuff is fucking annoying, so the earlier we organise all of it, the better for us all.”

She opened her mouth to say something but immediately closed it again when she realised she had nothing to say. “Anyway,” you continued, looking at Reaper. “Are they gonna give us contacts or do I have to use my own? Because I’ll charge them for that.”

Reaper shrugged, long legs crossed at the ankles on the counter. ”Not my problem. I’m just there to do my job,” he responded.

“The one Talon assigned you or your personal mission?”

He never responded to that, but you felt his glare through his mask, and you couldn’t help the vindictive smirk that curled your lips. You spared a glance at Sombra and Widowmaker, and both of them seemed unbothered. They weren’t aware of the intricacies of your interactions with your former boss, which was perfectly fine with you, honestly.

“Yo, Sombra, talk to me about my new bosses as I send these emails.”

…

Turns out your new bosses were are slimy, self-serving and bureaucratic as you first suspected. At least you knew where you stood with them, and you were well aware of the measures you needed to take to protect yourself if shit hit the fan, because for some reason, it  _ was  _ going to happen. You had been in this field for a very long time, and more than once you had learnt from experience to never ignore your gut feeling.

The lady that was primarily communicating with you and who you’d be corresponding with for most of this mission was Dutch, and her name was Emma. She was sixty eight years old and was one of the wealthiest women in Europe. Apparently most of her wealth was gotten from marrying rich, old men and using the their money to buy out failing business and turning their fortunes around. When she was done with these men she’d divorce them and use the settlement money to invest more into the business. She had been married five times, and her last ex-husband, the divorce finalised just within the year was still sending her her mandatory payments for the settlement. You respected her for using a tried and tested method for getting money off men dumb enough to believe her but with her own twist.

Sombra had also been polite enough to tell you about the rest of the members that were sitting on the panel, but you doubted they were too important, so you never really paid much attention to them. If they ended up being important, you’d tell Sombra to remind you of that information. For now you needed to make preliminary preparations for your arrival. You’d join the rest of your new Talon colleagues when you were done here.

You thought about taking a break before getting in touch with your contacts to give you some information on the current situation at the Kenyan coast, but you decided might as well do it now and get it over with.

You started with your contact that would provide you with transport and accommodation in all the major towns. When all that was sorted out, you calculated the invoice, making sure to be very clear what you were charging Talon for. As much as at the end of the day they were all bureaucratic capitalists (ironically, like the very people they were allegedly fighting against), you made sure to break everything down very simply so that they could see exactly what they were paying for.

As you finalised everything - Sombra had been...kind enough to send the information you had gathered to your bosses - you decided to start some preliminary investigations of your own. It wouldn’t hurt to be too prepared. As you had multiples holos in front of you, open to different communication channels, you felt a presence behind you. You already knew who it was before you turned around. You thought you should finish up this message before interacting with him.

You were completing the last email, when you heard a scoff, and the presence behind you was gone. You turned around to see what direction he had gone through, but  he had seemingly disappeared, nowhere in sight. For a moment you just stared dumbly, blinking a couple of times because you  _ swore  _ he had just been behind you.  You had felt him. Reaper had a very...quietly dominant presence, very intense. You’d  _ know  _ if he was in your space, and the fact that he was there but had just suddenly disappeared unnerved you a little bit.

You turned back to your holos, switching them off and then heading off to bed. You were extremely tired, maybe it was the fatigue playing with your mind. You’d deal with the rest of the shit later.

…

Not only were you too old for this, Reaper was also too old for this, Widowmaker and Sombra absolutely did not deserve this, and you definitely weren’t being paid enough for this.

No amount of money, honestly speaking, could be enough remuneration for this kinda bullshit. (That, however, was your opinion. Other people might differ with you on that, but anyway, that was besides the point.)

To be fair, you weren’t expecting this mission to be easy. Just going from the money that Talon offered you and the team that was assigned to you, you knew it was going to be a long, difficult and technical mission. Long, difficult and technical missions never bothered you. It was inherent in your job description, and you loved those kinda jobs because they kept you on your toes, kept you in your old habits, forcing you to maintain peak mental, emotional and physical fitness.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was this mission to be  _ annoying,  _ and the worst thing was that this was irritation brought about by apprehension.  _ Fear.  _ Fear was not an emotion you were used to feeling. However, at this point you knew you’d be forced to confront ghosts of your pasts that you much rather wouldn’t. You wanted these ghosts to stay in your past, but here they were, ready to come haunting you again.

Was this was true karma was all about? You chuckled sardonically.

“That doesn’t sound like a laugh of happiness,” Sombra noted, raising an eyebrow at how quickly and with unnecessary force you deactivated your holos.

“It’s not actually. It’s a laugh of cruel irony and how karma comes round to snap your ass for all the bad shit you did in the past. Shoulda been in Switzerland when HQ was blown to to fukcing bits so I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”

You were sitting in another, equally luxurious plane, headed for the airport at Malindi. You sipped at your champagne (Talon really seemed to be indulging you and you were not complaining in the least) hoping it would try and rid you of your sudden temper. You swirled the beverage in your mouth, looking out the window, swallowing with a lot more force than was necessary.

“Zeigler is there. She’s been spotted in Lamu, with locals. Apparently she’s set up a clinic there,” you said calmly.

That seemed to get everyone’s attention.

“What is she doing there, I wonder?” Widowmaker mused, crossing her legs dramatically. Gos she was so extra. And did she just own multiples of the same outfit? You didn’t blame her. Her titties were glorious to look at.

“She’s doing what she always does: some white saviour complex, ‘helping the unfortunate’ bullshit so that she get the attention she craves for from international organisations and milk their bank balances for some reason or other. Personal gratification? Validation? Wealth accumulation? Who knows? All I know is that she’s a greedy, capitalistic witch that needs to be gotten rid of without remorse.”

You all turned towards Reaper, and you swallowed. He was leaning forward in his chair, broad shoulders slightly slouched forward, elbows resting on his (admittedly glorious) thighs as his large, gloved hands dangled freely in between his legs. You remembered this stance from back in the day, and normally it never spelt good news for anyone within a kilometre radius of him,  _ particularly  _ for the the people who were going to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

Reaper might be a new entity, but in the end, psychologically and personality wise, he was still Commander Gabriel Reyes, and someone was going to die a horrible, slow and painful death when you got to Kilifi.

That particular thought turned you on, which made you realise just how twisted you had become over the years, or maybe you were always like this.

He looked up at you, all of you, before he zeroed in on you, his blood red gaze piercing and intense as it always was as he continued. “She’s not there for altruistic reasons. She hated heat and humidity, so I really can’t think of a reason why she should be there unless she stands to benefit substantially at the expense of someone else, most likely the locals. If she’s actually here, I doubt she’s alone. We need to figure out who she’s with, so that we can try and pinpoint her actual motive, though I can already guess who it is already.”

“On it,” you heard Sombra say, as you slowly turned from your Commander’s gaze. If any of others noticed anything between the two of you, they said nothing. 

Oh boy, you were gonna need something much stronger than champagne for this trip.…

…

“ _ Merde,  _ why is it so humid?” Widowmaker grumbled, removing her hair from her ponytail to let it down and probably let the breeze  go through it, cooling down her scalp. Considering the fact that her temperature was lower than normal, it must have been pretty hot for even  _ her  _ to complain. You’d checked the weather forecast before you arrived, and it said there would be highs of thirty. It seemed like today was a day of highs.

“Welcome to the Kenyan coast,” you responded, looking around for the ride you’d organised for you all. Your face immediately cracked into a smile when you saw it, almost trotting towards it and asking the porters to bring your luggage to it.

“Hello there, friends,” you greeted slightly more enthusiastically than normal in Swahili. “Have you been sent here by Ms Ndong’ to pick me and my squad up?”

The driver looked up at you, an Old Swahili man, but this was no normal man. This was Ndolo, and you trusted very few people like you trusted this man. “Yes we are. Are these your friends?” He gestured at them, tilting his head slightly towards where Widowmaker, Sombra and Reaper stood. You nodded.

“Alright then. Time to get home before the evening.”

You managed to get the squad into the car, and you were driven to the small villa that you would be staying at. It had four bedrooms, each of them en suite, with a kitchen, sitting room, dining room and an extra room in the basement, which you decided would be where you’d all store your weapons and ammunition.

To everyone’s relief, the villa was air-conditioned. You found it interesting considering you lived in Kilifi, a coastal town and Reaper was from Los Angeles,  a coastal city. Both of you should have been able to tolerate the humidity, but here you were. Inherently you were an inlander. Heat was fine, humidity is where the problem was

Everyone decided to chill out for the rest of the day. The other good stuff would be planned tomorrow.

…

It was a lovely evening. The sky looked beautiful during the sunset, reflecting over the ocean water, the sandy white beaches looking phenomenal as well. It had been a while since you had been here, and you’d forgotten how beautiful it could get.

“You look very serene,” Reaper said from behind you, startling you just a little. You turned immediately to face him, and only your death grip on the balcony prevented you from falling off into the abyss below.

Okay, not abyss, but the sand below.

He didn’t have any of his gear, and despite being undead, he had barely changed. Barely.

In fact, he was still as unbelievably attractive as he always was. You never thought you’d live to say that an  _ undead man  _ would be extremely attractive. What a time to be alive.

He honestly looked exactly the same, the only difference was his skin, again, had very thin red lines on them, only visible if you chose to really look, no doubt a result of his condition. His hair, an unruly mop of curls on top of his head, but shaved on the sides and at the back was as black and thick as it ever was, with a few streaks of grey, showing his age. (How the hell was he even ageing when he was literally dead?!) His beard, that neatly trimmed mustache and goatee also had some streaks of grey on them, and his eyes were now blood red instead of the deep, chocolate brown they were before. He was still muscular, and parts of his biceps were grey, a stark contrast to the rest of his dark skin tone, his tattoo standing out even more than it did before. The grey areas also didn’t have the thin red lines on them. Thin, almost invisible wisps of light smoke rose from his entire person.

He looked very normal to the untrained eye.

He had on a black wife beater and black basketball shorts. You looked back to the sunset, swallowing your arousal. You remembered pinning really hard for this man in your Overwatch (and Blackwatch) days, and you could feel those feelings of attraction come right back. Reaper, just like Gabriel Reyes was  _ incredibly  _ sexy, and that fact bothered you a lot more than it should have.

His voice, however never changed. A lot less rough because he was quieter, but it was still gravelly.

“You always sounded like that?” you asked him, amusement lacing your voice. “And what’s with your arms?”

He shrugged. “I’m undead. It’s a side effect. My arms are as a result of prolonged exposure to sunlight. Again, a side effect. It’s why I have a mask and I’m constantly in black. The less exposure to sun I get, the better for me. I don’t sweat because I don’t need to regulate body temperature, so it works out for me.”

You wanted to ask a very private and no doubt inappropriate question, but you decided against it.

“Is the ghosting shit a side effect of your condition too?” You were genuinely curious.

He chuckled, that low, rough, masculine sound again. It was oddly warm, and it made you feel things, things that you used to feel a decade ago, things that you still shouldn’t be feeling.

“Yes, the ghosting shit is a side effect of my condition. I’ve got very many. I’ve just learnt to live with them.”

“Talon...fixed you up?” Your voice was smaller, more tentative.

“They did, yes.”

“What about the smoke?”

He smirked, awakening a roaring fire in the pit of your belly. You were way too old to be having problems keeping your hormones in check. Then again, women got more easily aroused the older they got, so you chalked it up to that. “You can see that? Damn,  _ chappara,  _ your observation skills have never diminished. My cells are constantly dying and regenerating, making me have a constantly high temperature, higher than normal. The thin smoke you see is a result of that. Another side effect.”

You nodded. It was...interesting, seeing how he had changed so drastically physically, but psychologically he was still the witty, snarky and sarcastic Commander Reyes of old.

“I like how you’ve never changed,” you said quietly, smiling softly.

“You too,  _ cariño.  _ Let’s go back in, get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long couple of weeks.”

You followed him in. What had you gotten yourself into?


	4. Problem number 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, shit's starting to get complicated from here on out as I flesh out the plot. I'd really appreciate it of you stay with me. If you got any questions about anything feel free to holla at me on da tumblz: nutheadgee.tumblr.com.
> 
> Secondly, I'd like to credit Lauren on Tumblr (http://laur-rants.tumblr.com/) for my explanation of how Reaper, well, functions physiologically in this story. She had it all illustrated nshit and it was a really awesome explanation. It's just lost in the depths of her fantastic art-filled blog. Go check it out.
> 
> Onwards then. (PS Badonkadonk is coming soon).

“Okay, so wait, Commander, what you’re telling me is that your neural, endocrine, skeletal, respiratory and muscular systems are working perfectly fine because the nanoshits -”

“ _ Nanobots,”  _ he growled, definitely irritated.

“Yeah, whatever the fuck, restored them, but your digestive system was completely destroyed and they didn’t restore that because they were able to realise that somehow your cells are able to absorb everything you need for sustenance from the atmosphere, and the reason you’re able to ghost around -”

“Shift,” Widowmaker and Sombra corrected in unison.

“Is because the nanobots literally split your cells apart to their furthest limit to when they can still be functional?”

Reaper crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, leaning back into his chair. You were on another flight, chartered this time, and the interior looked like something only the wealthiest people in the world travelled in, with the extremely comfortable and indulgent leather seats, and, of course, lots of champagne, caviar and expensive food. 

“Well, actually, Talon reprogrammed some of the nanobot commands to do all that, yes. At least you’re still as intelligent as I remember. You understood all that in one explanation. Good job,  _ chappara.” _

You were still extremely shocked. “So you’re basically simultaneously dead and alive?”

“I thought we had already established this, what, yesterday?”

“Undead?”

He sighed. Even Widowmaker managed to smile.

“So can you die? Re-die?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because the nanobots won’t let me.”

“Well, that’s just fucking rude.”

He remained silent. Something, an instinct, told you that you should remain silent too, so you did, but that wouldn’t stop your musing.

Despite the fact that perhaps, just perhaps you were trying to rile him a little bit, much to Sombra’s amusement and Widowmaker’s exasperation you were still quite amazed at how Talon went to great lengths to ensure they fixed as much as they could that  _ Mercy  _ fucked up. Unless you had missed something when you thoroughly researched this organisation, they were never one to spend so much on their organisation members, even the elite. However, they definitely did go above and beyond with Reaper.

Also knowing him, he wasn’t one to accept ultimatums,  _ especially  _ when it came to organisations like Talon. Commander Reyes liked to push his limits, but he wasn’t stupid. You knew that if they gave him any sort of “deals” in exchange of patching him up he would have refused. The fact that they did all this without demanding anything in return was pretty suspicious in itself.

Were his skills that high in demand that Talon was willing to do the complete maximum to keep him on a semi-permanent basis? Of course, as he was still Commander Reyes he was still exceptionally skilled: brilliant strategist, excellent soldier and amazing leader, and if most of his physiological systems were still functional,  _ particularly  _ his neurological system, then those skills had never gone anywhere. After all, he had shown that Gabriel Reyes and Reaper were one and the same person.

Well, almost one and the same person.

“You’re still staring,  _ señora, _ ” Sombra pointed out, and you blinked, shaking your head before turning away from his mask and focusing on your rifle. You needed to disassemble it and put it in your backpack, so you set to work.

“What is the plan once we get there?” Widowmaker asked, getting you all back to the task at hand. You all turned to Reaper. You had all silently but unanimously appointed his as your  _ de facto  _ leader. He seemed to have no issue with it all, apparently.

“We get there and we get to the point of rendezvous. Maya, if I’m not mistaken, has organised appropriate transport. We need to talk to the locals, figure out what Zeigler is doing and see who she’s with. After that we need to figure out why she’s here and that will give us a rough idea of what she stands to benefit. As I mentioned before she’s not here on a whim. Something of substantial value has brought her here and the locals are either currently suffering from it or they are yet to suffer from it.”

One thing you noted about the analysis he gave is that it lacked emotion. It was flat, dry. In fact he was talking like the Commander Reyes of old: concise, semi-drawl, almost as if he was bored out of his eyeballs. He honestly wasn’t bothered about the politics or semantics or have any sympathy or empathy for anyone or anything that was happening here. He was here to do one thing and one thing only: pop the heads of the people that were causing his contractors problems. He was simply stating facts.

He was so detached from it all, so  _ indifferent  _ that it tugged at something inside you. Maybe he had changed, because as much as Commander Reyes generally never gave a fuck about most things due to his line of work, it was never like this. He would always say something along the lines of protecting the locals and innocents, or trying to reduce as much collateral damage as possible.

But Reaper was just... _ cold.  _ It scared you a little bit, that all the series of events that happened that led to him to become this  _ being  _ had led him to lose his humanity. There was nothing that spoke about the locals or the innocents or preventing collateral damage. As far as he was concerned this was clinical. A job: get in, do your thing, get out. You decided to put it to the test. Swallowing your nerves, you spoke up.

“What about the locals and the innocents?”

For a moment everyone looked at you, but you were able to ignore the other two because that blood-red gaze  _ seared  _ you. It was as if he was staring at the depths of your soul - or what was left of it, really - and that intense stare made a shiver that you found very difficult convincing yourself was of fear running up your spine.

You could almost  _ hear  _ his smirk behind that mask. Everything between your navel and your knees clenched. “What about them?” he asked softly, his voice slightly smoother than it normally was.

Oh, you heard it alright. Loud and clear. You swallowed again, at least, this time, more in fear than arousal. You heard the undertones of cold, hard steel in his voice. In there was a warning. His orders were  _ absolute.  _ No one, not even you, one of his most trusted agents once upon a time was to disobey him or there would be consequences. Very dire ones.

Then again, you were ex-Blackwatch. You were sure he’d be a little disappointed if you didn’t push some limits occasionally, and you really didn’t want to disappoint your commander after not seeing him for an entire decade and a bit.

“There’s a risk that they might be caught in the conflict.”

“And?”

“What can we do to ensure their safety?”

“That’s not our problem.”

You opened your mouth to argue (all these years you still hadn’t managed to reign it in, despite the problems it had gotten you into in the past), but he was first to speak.

“Maya, I know this is your land and these are your people, but I’d strongly advise you not to cultivate any unnecessary emotional attachments because it  _ will _ cloud your judgement and you  _ will  _ fuck up. Trust me, none of us want you to fuck up, because it means someone has to clean up and that will prolong this fucking mission and  _ none of us, including  _ you want this mission to be prolonged. You’re an exceptionally skilled sniper and you are goddamn good at your job, but you know yourself as much as I know you. I do  _ not  _ want a repeat of Mauritania, and I’m very sure neither do you.”

Your mouth immediately shut when he mentioned Mauritania, and you could feel your vision blurring from the tears that you were trying to desperately hold back. It had been  _ sixteen years _ and that shit still stung. You looked away, biting your lip so hard you were surprised you hadn’t broken skin yet.

“If people will die people will die. That’s just what happens to nations with a lot of highly in demand resources that have greedy administrations. And we both know it’s not just them. There’s a tonne of fucking, bloody, shitty things involved: greedy corporates, desperate citizens and ignorant people in power who can do something to try and stop it but they don’t, because their benefits will cease. You and I both know this better than anything and anyone else, because us trying to question the status quo led us to what we are now.  _ No one  _ gives a fuck about the greater good, because the greater good is a massive disruption on capitalism. The earlier you realise that, the better your life will be. All human beings are fucking  _ shit.” _

“You a moral nihilist now?” you snapped, hiding your grief behind rage.

He chuckled darkly, and it took the self-control of God himself to stop you from crushing your thighs together and whimpering. Jesus Christ his  _ voice.  _ What the fuck was  _ wrong  _ with you?

“I’ve always been a moral nihilist,  _ chappara,”  _ he said, making sure to sound particularly spiteful when he said that old nickname. “It just took me about fifty years - most of my life -  for me to truly accept it.”

You barely managed to swallow a choked sob before you stood up, dragging your backpack behind you and going to a different section of the plane. Hopefully you could cry quietly enough before you got to Lamu.

…

When you got to Lamu, you realised it had just rained, so for now the humidity had been contained, but in a few hours, it would be  _ stifling.  _

Fine, you just wanted to be back at the house in a couple of hours then, which was the problem.

“Ah. Ms Otete, you’ve finally arrived. Welcome to Lamu. I take it you and your colleagues had a comfortable trip?”

A lady arrived, smiling at you. She had a slight - very slight - Italian accent, despite her fluent Swahili. This was someone who most likely was born and brought up here, even if she wasn’t then she has obviously lived for most of her life. She seemed amicable enough, but there was something quite...off about her general demeanour. There was something insincere going on here, and going by the look on Sombra’s face and Reaper’s stance, you could tell you weren’t the only one that felt just a little bit uncomfortable about her. Even Widowmaker had postponed her complaining about the humidity to regard this lady.

“Hello. And who exactly are you? Ndolo told me to expect a young black man to come and pick us up,” you said, your voice calm despite the slight look of suspicion that you were sure was plastered on your face. If she noticed it she never said anything. You made sure to not mention the driver’s name, because Ndolo knew all his drivers by name. If this lady failed to mention it then you knew things would not exactly be right here.

“Ah yes. Well, unfortunately, he wasn’t able to make it. He’s not feeling particularly well. He apparently got a terrible malaria infection and not feeling well at all. However, I told him that I would be able to do this job for him as he recovered.” That smile never left her face, and it never seemed to move when she spoke. In fact her entire jaw seemed to be stuck in place, only her lips sliding over her teeth as he spoke.

You refused to move, and Reaper looked at her, right at her. It was very subtle, but she managed to compose herself almost immediately.

“What’s up? This is not our chauffeur, is it?”

“No. Apparently he suffered a strong bout of malaria last night and wasn’t able to make it to pick us up. This lovely lady here, however, volunteered to come on his behalf.”

“Really?” He wasn’t even hiding the incredulity in his voice. The lady turned to him, that fake-ass smile still plastered on her face.

“Well, that’s some really bad luck, isn’t it? Let’s just go home. Maybe later we can try and reach the driver when we get home, see if we can go and see how he’s doing,” Sombra interjected, looking bored as hell as her thumbs zoomed over her holo pad.

You had no idea what the fuck she was doing but you knew she was planning something, and something in your gut told you to go on ahead with this plan. So you shrugged and started walking towards the car.

There was definitely something wrong going on here. For one, this lady was very obviously lying. You had just spoken to Maloba, the driver than Ndolo had assigned to you, the night before you got here. He was doing perfectly fine and was perfectly healthy. There was absolutely  _ no way _ that he was suffering from Malaria. Malaria takes about a fortnight to develop, and even is he was suffering from Malaria, you would have been able to tell, due to the fact that he would have been weak and dehydrated. You could have heard it in his voice, you could have seen it in his face, and Ndolo most definitely would have assigned you another chauffeur.

Then again, this was a white woman who probably lived on the Kenyan coast. She was most likely the descendant of a settler, or married into one of the families, and these people were so entrenched in their own wealth, opulence and privilege, they were very far displaced from the normal struggles of the locals, which explained the fact that she could blatantly lie to you about someone getting malaria over a span of twenty four hours. She must have really underestimated your intelligence, because it was pretty obvious from your accent that this was  _ your  _ country.

Secondly, based on the above, she definitely had a hand in the disappearance of Maloba. She either orchestrated it herself, or had a hand, no matter how indirect in it. Considering how allegedly top secret this particular mission was, someone was either really lucky and very accurately guessed that you guys were here today, or you were compromised from within Talon. You also considered the fact that  _ you  _ and your system could be compromised. As skilled as you were in creating and maintaining your own website and subsequent communication channels, you were no Sombra. It  _ was  _ difficult to hack into, but it wasn’t  _ impossible.  _ Though Sombra was definitely the best of the best that you knew of so far - this is, after all, the young woman that effortlessly hacked into the systems of Volskaya Industries, and how you were aware of that was for later contemplation - and she was exceptional standard to meet, you were sure that there were other excellent hackers out there who could compromise your system.

You doubted it would take long for you to find out however, for the second the main door to your abode was closed, Reaper removed one of his shotguns and pointed it right between our beloved chauffeur’s eyes. “Who the fuck are you and where is the goddamn driver?” he snarled.

She swallowed, her eyes widened in fear. She tried to turn around, but she was surrounded, Sombra’s sub-machine gun at the crown of her head.

“Time to talk,  _ mademoiselle.” _

Why was the past catching up  _ now?! _


	5. Missions and memories

Well, this was interesting, now wasn’t it?

You thought it was kind of adorable how this lady was pretending like there was no basis at all for your sudden change of mood. Reaper, in particular looked like he was going to blow her head off any second now. She must have known who she was dealing with before she decided she was going to get involved with you guys, and she must have realised that you would see through her bullshit and immediately call her out on it. Her mistake was underestimating who exactly it was she was dealing with with a very sad attempt of deceptive information, which, in your opinion made her appear either extremely arrogant, ignorant or both. What you were definitely sure about, however, was that she was extremely stupid.

That unnerving little smile was back on her face, though by her slight trembling you could tell that she was more than a little scared. “I don’t know wh-”

It was almost instantaneous. Faster than your eyes could see Reaper had already dropped his shotgun and grabbed her by the neck, quickly turning around and throwing her across the room. She hit the wall with a dull thud, falling down like a rag doll. She was panting, finding it difficult to lift herself off the ground. You knew she wasn’t a combatant, so her body wasn’t trained to take such a strong impact so abruptly, but you weren’t aware she was  _ this  _ bad. Even Ndolo had his drivers trained in basic hand to hand combat, considering the kinds of people they drove around.

Your attention, however, was promptly turned back to Reaper. He looked ridiculous in his get up, with the flowing black robes, the cartridges on his chest and his hips, the armour, the boots - this was not what anyone would consider coastal wear, but considering the recent entrance of omnics in this part of the world, he would be ignored in favour of them. Sometimes you were thankful for being a less developed country. You could get away with quite a bit if there was something that seemed more compelling.

Nonetheless, it was his gait that had you question whether or not you had adequate control of your hormones. (The answer was no, but that was besides the point for now). It was slow, predatory, calculated. It was very similar to his gait in his Blackwatch days when he was approaching a prisoner that was refusing to cooperate. He had sheathed his weapons, and he stopped the moment he got to where the body of whoever the fuck - why had none of you up until this point in time not even enquired what her name was? - he stopped, staring down at her for a couple of seconds. With the tip of his boot he flipped her over. She turned around like a sack of potatoes and groaned, probably in pain and something else.

He squatted down and grabbed her by the collar, pulling her up and banging her hard against the wall, she wailed in pain, grabbing at his wrists weakly.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” he growled at her, pushing her harder into the wail. She whined out, before her sounds devolved into whimpers. “Where. Is. The. Driver?”

“Please, please,” she sobbed, her legs wiggling in the air slowly. “Please, let me  go. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything,” she said, making you raise her eyebrow at how quickly she switched to English.

Well, Reaper was right all those years ago: pain yielded results.  _ Very quickly. _

He let her go and she fell to the ground again in a crumpled heap, hacking and gasping, her lungs desperate for the air that she had been denied. Reaper, like Commander Reyes was impatient, particularly in a scenario like now where there was incompetence involved and he kicked her roughly in the shins, making her whine in pain again, trembling as she curled herself roughly on the ground.

“Well?” you asked from across the room, tilting your head slightly to the side.

“I-I don’t-”

“Beginning is always a good place to start, or  _ amigo  _ here is going to literally rip your throat out with his bare hands. I’ve seen him do it and it’s not pretty,” Sombra decided to add, making the lady blanch. You somehow doubted Reaper could literally claw someone’s throat out, despite the claws on the tips of his gloves. Draw blood, maybe, but not claw out. Maybe it was said to scare her even more, because if that was the purpose it seemed to have worked exceptionally well, going by the increased rate of her trembling.

“I was hired by the late Abdi’s daughter. I don’t know her name. She just told me to refer to her as the late Abdi’s daughter. She told me that she got information from her collaborators that ex-Blackwatch hired by Talon would be coming after them and that I was to distract you, waste your time. I was to incapacitate the driver and come collect you, until the late Abdi’s daughter and her collaborators formulated a better plan. I swear that’s all I know. Please, don’t kill me.”

You froze, swallowing in both deep apprehension and disbelief. Your blood froze straight in your veins, because at this point in time life was coming at you real fast. You knew this was going to deteriorate to a point where you’d have to face your nightmares sooner or later, but you weren’t expecting to be hit in the gut  _ this  _ soon.

“Sombra,” you muttered, your voice raspy. “Incapacitate my channel. Backtrack every and all activity that has been going on on it for the past week. Someone infiltrated me. I’m one hundred percent sure of it. Someone got into my network and passed this information over.”

In the meantime you dropped your gaze, closed your eyes and took five deep breaths. It was the corniest method of getting people to calm down, but it was tried and tested. You were ex-black ops and it worked on you all the time, you and every other agent you’d met. It would not stop working now. You managed to get yourself together to hear Reaper snarl for the name of this chic, because this fake chauffeur was lying about not knowing who she was, and right on the mark, she was silent, trembling quietly.

Reaper kicked her in the ribs, making her double over and scream in pain, beginning to whimper again. With the tip of his boot he turned her over and just loomed over her, silently reiterating his question.

“I can’t tell you,” she suddenly cried out, raising her hands in surrender. “She’ll kill me if I do. She’ll find out and she’ll come after me. She’s relentless. She’ll kill me. You’ll all kill me. My life is worthless to you. I’ll just give you the information you need and you’ll kill me!” She seemed like she was in a blind panic. You would have felt sorry for her if you weren’t still trying to get your brain together after you were told you’d be dealing with fucking Abdi’s demon spawn.

“You’re right. Only difference is that I can assure you that I won’t unnecessarily drag out your death. I could torture you for information, but that’s messy and involves significant time and effort, resources that we’re really short on right now. So just tell us this  cunt’s name so that one of us can pop your head off and we go on with our lives. Fuck I’m too goddamn old for this shit.”

“You and me both,” you muttered when you realised you’d found your voice. Widowmaker was still keeping an eye on the front, ensuring no one walked in on this...gathering. Sombra had about 6 holos open in front of her, typing furiously as she maximised and minimised different windows, expanding and contracting them, her hands all but a fast whirr in front of you all.

“P-promise me you-”

Her sentence was interrupted by a sharp yelp of pain, and you were sure you not only saw a tooth fly out but also heard a sickening crunch, making you wince. Reaper had whacked her with one of those shotguns of his on the jaw, as she was holding her mouth. She was bleeding quite substantially, and she was cradling it tenderly, sobbing and unable to to even make proper sounds. He had definitely mangled that jaw.

“Hurry the fuck up,  _ puta.  _ We don’t have all fucking night. I’m tired and I want to sleep because it’s gonna be a long couple of days from tomorrow,” he barked, causing her to flinch.

“Really,  _ monsieur,”  _ Widowmaker begun sarcastically. “How do you expect her to talk after you’ve broken her jaw?” It took far more self-control than necessary for you not to laugh. “Just kill her already. She’s of no use to us now.”

Seemingly agreeing, he stood up and aimed one of his shotguns at her head, his long index finger on the trigger.

“Reaper no! Not in-”

Your exclamation was interrupted with a loud bang, and there against the wall, lay a headless body, a bullet hole in the wall and blood, bone and brain matter splattered about. You sighed, rubbing your palm over your face. Not like fucking this.

“Sombra, do me a favour and google how to clean dried blood and brain matter off walls. I’m too tired for this right now. Just...goodnight.” You turned around and promptly went to your room.

It had been a decade. An entire bloody decade and you  _ still  _ could not figure out why the fuck he was like this, and his new colleagues weren’t any better. How was this real life?

“What about this bo-”

“Good  _ fucking  _ night.”

…

Sleep had been eluding you a lot in the recent past, and in the absence of sleep your mind had this really bad habit of wandering to situations in the past you’d rather forget.

Mauritania was a perfect example of one such situation.

Lack of sleep wasn’t foreign to you. You were ex Blackwatch, and before that ex Overwatch. You had been involved in very questionable things and were privy to very dark secrets. You’d seen a human being die in front of your eyes, the light literally dimming from their eyes, and you’d seen a human being being brought back from the cold clutches of the Grim Reaper himself. You had seen and been through things most normal people would never experience in multiple lifetimes, and many a time since you moved to Kilifi you had been awake a whole night, because if you slept the nightmares would never end.

However, they were never this frequent.

You sighed, for what must have been the upteenth time as you turned around to the opposite side in your bed, remembering how Mauritania changed you as an agent and as a person.

You would never forget that mission.

It was a two person mission, you and Reaper, or rather, Commander Reyes as he then was. You also distinctly remembered you were chosen because of your ability to speak Swahili, and for a long time after that mission you wondered whether being able to speak that language, beautiful as it was, was a curse. This was an infiltration mission. There was a massive human sex-slave trade going on in Nouakchott, Mauritania and it was headed by (the late) Abdi, a man from Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania, Abu from Abuja, Nigeria, and Amil from Nouakchott, Mauritania. Abdi was the head, and he did not speak English, but he did speak Swahili. The victims were kidnapped from South, East and West Africa and taken on to the Middle East, Eastern Europe, Southeast Asia and South America to serve as sex slaves to the mostly high class white and Arab men clients. You were supposed to infiltrate the major point of exchange, a massive harem run by Abu’s sister and assassinate her and Abdi, take the young women and girls to an Overwatch Safe House in Dakar, Senegal and have them taken back to their home countries. Commander Reyes’ job was to oversee the whole mission of the transportation of these unfortunate victims back to their homelands, but he was mainly there for backup, in case shit hit the fan.

Naturally, shit hit the fan.  _ Terribly.  _

One of the agents was captured, and under torture revealed most of the information before he was killed. However, they didn’t know who exactly it was that infiltrated the harem, or that Commander Reyes was around,  _ or that there was a safehouse,  _ so for the most part the core of the mission was still somewhat safe. On the night of the mission, however, you got a visit from Abdi himself.

He appeared, demanding to know in broken English who was the cunt from Overwatch. He seemed intoxicated, and it wasn’t from alcohol. He was just about to throw a scene when Commander Reyes walked in, disguised as a tourist. Abdi’s behaviour immediately changed, waited for the Commander to demand a service (he acted really well, you noted) and he chose you. 

Abdi that evening, doped on God knows how many drugs, decided he was going to watch this exchange. Apparently he wanted to “evaluate the services given to his customers”. You were disgusted, but you decided to go through it, for the mission. On the way to the room, the Commander told you the madame was dead, so were Amil and Abu. Abdi was the only one that was alive, and he would personally get rid of him. Every other high ranking member of this ring had been either killed in action, killed trying to escape or captured. The ring was probably completely broken at this point. Abdi was alone.

The Commander wasted no time. The moment the door was closed, with Abdi sitting in another room, separated by a one sided mirror, he begun stripping. You remembered your brain shutting down, because as much as this was for work, it was just sex, you could not help how you felt. Commander Reyes was a very sexy man, and your mind was still processing that you were going to fuck him, something that was only but just a dream in the recent past.

He had the body of a Greek god, all lean, defined and sculpted muscle, behind smooth, dark skin. You remembered how your hands shook as you took off your own clothes, watching him gracefully get on the bed, all stretched out like a wild cat, staring you down as you shyly stood there,  _ feeling  _ his hungry gaze on you. He called you to him, and his touch was searing against your skin. You remembered your small gasp at his kisses, how his hands explored your body, and how your body immediately responded, touching him in turn feeling how hard and masculine he was, his muscles contracting under your fingertips.

Your mind  _ exploded  _ the moment you felt his fingers in between your legs, feeling how soaking wet you were for him. Your face nearly fried off when he chuckled in your ear, the sound low and husky, telling you how you were always his, because he knew you always checked him out when you saw him, how you were a superb agent, strong-willed and difficult and brilliant, and how he had spent nights dreaming of watching you fall apart on his cock. You responded by taking his shaft in your hand, squeezing at the base and feeling such satisfaction upon hearing that rough hitch of breath against your skin. He was absolutely  _ massive,  _ so long, thick and hard in your hand. You remembered how he pushed your face into his shoulder as he slipped himself inside you in one smooth thrust, not waiting Abdi to realise how much fun  _ you  _ were having. He was so deliberate that you could barely produce sound, feeling your walls struggle to stretch and clench around him, his sheer thickness making you manage to only scream internally.

He paused for some seconds, giving you time to get accustomed to him, but no matter how long he’d have given you, you’d never have been ready. Had your mouth rediscovered the great wonders of speech at the time you’d have protested him pulling out of you, but luckily your vagina cooperated with you. You almost clamped down on him, not wanting him to leave, but he managed to pull out until his tip before slamming in again. You managed a squeak.

He wasn’t gentle. He set a brutal pace, fast, hard, deep,  _ primal.  _ He fucked you with a vengeance, and you could never have asked for a better gift from the Fates. He angled both himself and you so that he could hit that spot with. Every. Thrust. He even managed to hit your cervix, but that was the least of your concerns. No man had  _ ever  _ taken you like this, and you remembered being off sex for a while because he had set the bar so ridiculously high, a bar you were sure only he could achieve.

You came, overwhelmed by the most intense orgasm you had ever had, visibly shaking as you gasped his name like a prayer over him. His grip on your hips was like a vice, holding you still and still fucking you through your orgasm. It wasn’t soon before he growled in your neck, before he followed you over the edge, spilling his so much of his seed inside you that most of it spilled out, flowing down the insides of your thighs and over his cock.

You slumped over him, exhausted and sated, and you never heard Abdi walk in, but you did hear him fall on the ground like a sack of potatoes, a dagger sank halfway into his skull right between his eyes. That was the last thing you saw before you passed out.

You woke up in a hotel room in Senegal, in a large four poster bed with luxurious sheets, still tired, still sore, but  _ definitely  _ satisfied. You had completed your mission. All the women were on their way back home, you had broken a sex ring, and you had achieved one of your biggest missions in life, to have sex with Gabriel Reyes.

However, there was the small issue of the feelings you subsequently developed for him after that night, and therein is where the problem lay.

You got up to go to the balcony. It was probably about four am, going by the noisiest cockrel you had ever heard at the next homestead. The crack of dawn.

Might as well go take a shower as you went down the memory lane you never asked your brain for. You could enjoy small pleasures in life like watching the beautiful Lamu sunrise before you embarked on the horrendous mission that was to go look for Ms Angela Ziegler and asking her how she was involved with a former sex trader’s daughter. 

Not like this.


	6. Meeting Zeigler

Contrary to popular belief, you were  _ not  _ a morning person, despite your semi-military experience. Reaper was even worse, which was even more ironical because his entire career was spent in the military. (When he was ‘alive’ anyway). He was in full gear, as you all were, except he still had his mask in his hands, his handsome face twisted in a scowl, blood-red eyes narrowed, full lips pursed, his cheek leaning against his gloved fist and his other hand hanging in between his muscular thighs, playing with aforementioned mask. He was  _ not  _ amused _.  _

Neither were you, come to think of it.

“You’re both so miserable,  _ chicos,  _ even after that great breakfast we had. Cheer up a little bit.”

Both you and Reaper turned to Sombra, glaring at her. How could she be so bloody chipper at six o’clock in the fucking morning? Even Widowmaker seemed irritated.

“It’s six o’clock in the fucking morning and we’re on our way to meet one of the most vile human beings currently alive. There really isn’t any reason to be happy, you know?” you growled, mirroring your former commander and plopping your cheek on your fist.

She had a point though. Breakfast was pretty awesome. Reaper never ate though, because, well, he was undead. Pity, because you remembered how you almost brawled for his french toast with Widowmaker. She ate way too much in your opinion. Probably had something to do with the changes in her physiology. You didn’t know what the fuck they did to her and you didn’t want to know.

“Anything of substance you have to tell us?” Reaper asked, his gravelly voice getting you all to focus again. Sombra got serious, and Widowmaker turned to you, signalling that she was paying attention.

“Unfortunately, not very good news,” she began, and you swallowed, feeling your chest tighten. From past experience, when someone said ‘unfortunately not very good news’ it never spelt anything pleasant would be happening to you in the near future.

“I incapacitated  _ señora  _ Maya’s channel and her suspicions are very correct. She was indeed hacked by an individual I have never heard of before. He’s called Joseph, and he compromised her channel when he was in Nairobi, and there was a lot of communication between him in Nairobi and other IP addresses in Dar es Salaam, Mombasa and Malindi. I strongly suspect he was the one that was aware of Maya working with us and realising that we were coming here, and therefore informing this Abdi’s daughter.  There is also communication between him and Sarah, meaning she had enough time to incapacitate the driver before she came for us.”

Wait...so Sarah was the name of the lady that came to pick us up and subsequently had her head popped off in the villa last night? You still hadn't cleaned her brains and blood off the walls too. Where was her body?

“The driver?” You asked. Sarah was dead now, Maloba was your new priority. You felt like you owed him and his boss at the very least for the problems you’d put them through.

“I’m not able to track his whereabouts at the moment. I just need a bit more time and I can narrow down the place where he most likely is and hopefully we can find him,” Sombra responded, staring down at her holo pad as her fingers flew over it at breakneck speed.

You turned to look back outside, at the beach and the beautiful ocean. As you had predicted, the sunrise had been a beautiful sight, despite not being a morning person. It was comfortably warm, and you hoped to get to Zeigler before it came out in full-force. There was only so much you could deal with in one day. In fact, dealing with fucking Zeigler alone was enough to send you to bed for a week. You didn’t want intense heat and humidity to top it off.

You breathed out loudly, already tired before the mission even technically begun. “Please keep my channel blocked.” You requested, not bothering to look at your team. You heard Sombra acquiesce to your request. Your life had been going kind of great for once in a long time, but knowing your luck, you should have realised that it wasn’t going to last too long. Talon’s money really better be worth all the nonsense that was about to happen.

“Almost there,” Sombra said, shutting down her holos. You loaded bullets into six magazines, fitting them on your belt and strapping your rifle behind you back. Showtime.

…

The plan was to first go in and talk to the locals: a task that was assigned to you because of the knowledge of language and culture. Reaper, Sombra and Widowmaker were to patiently follow behind you at a distance, looking like the tourists they definitely were not. Their weapons were well hidden, and you assured them that their questionable choice of attire would be ignored in favour of the new and shiny omnics that were zooming around, the locals more interested in these robots that the government had informed them were actually sentient beings as opposed to the guy in all black and a mask, the chic in all purple and a half-shaved head, and the literal blue chic with a cleavage too deep for such a conservative community.

You never thought you’d live to say you were thankful to the omnics, but you also never thought Overwatch headquarters would be blown to smithereens and you’d be hired by Talon, but here you were.

Anyway, after you talked to the locals, you were to then head to where Zeigler was based. Sombra and Widowmaker were to stay outside and deal with the perimeter, you and Reaper were to go in and confront her. Going by the new information you got courtesy of Sombra’s hacking, you were all extremely convinced that this bitch and Abdi’s demon spawn were definitely collaborating in some way. Logically, there was plenty to gain for both of them if they worked together. You arrived, and the moment you got out of the car you got to work.

As you expected, things were rapidly deteriorating. Whenever you spoke to the locals about Mercy (they suspected you at first because of your attire, but your skin colour and the language coaxed them to open up eventually) they had nothing but kind words and unending praise for her. They called her  **malaika wetu,** which is Swahili for our angel. They talked about how she had always helped them, always ready with a helping hand and a kind smile. They told you how she was trying to learn the language to communicate with them better, that she was getting lessons from her translator. She never turned anyone away, no matter the time or the ailment. Everyone was happier and healthier because of her.

It took some monumental self-control for you not to snort in sheer disbelief. You truly felt sorry for these people, because they had no idea what they were talking about. Zeigler was a fucking demon, spawned straight from the ninth circle to torment you. These people’s ignorance of her true nature fuelled a the fire of spite in your soul to destroy her once and for all, and you would  _ relish  _ in it.

“I doubt you bring us good news,  _ madame,”  _ Widowmaker muttered, noting the look of pure irritation no doubt plastered on your face.

“No, I don’t. Everyone loves her. They speak of her as if she’s some saviour that’s been sent for heaven or some shit. They adore her, which is unfortunate, really. We won’t be very welcome here when we get rid of her, but we gotta get rid of her before she starts making their daughters barren and selling them off into sex slavery.”

Sombra’s head perked, her attention turned to you. “How do you know she’ll make them barren?” She asked, her voice taking on her much sharper edge.

You smiled grimly. “It’s her  _ modus operandi.  _ She tried pulling off that shit in Overwatch during the last couple of months. It was a lot more successful than we thought because of her specialisation in nanotechnology integrated in her medical operations.”

Reaper inclined his head slightly to where you knew her clinic would be, cutting your conversation short. “Let’s go.”

You were hating this mission more and more as the seconds ticked by.

…

You and Reaper walked into the clinic like you’re the ones that funded it. Widowmaker and Sombra had taken their positions outside: they would be dealing with the perimeter and close combat, respectively, whereas you two went inside to confront Zeigler, playing the exact same roles. No one ever stopped you or said anything to object you going in, partly because you moved too fast and partly because you both looked angry and dangerous. It was basic common sense not to bother someone that looked dangerous and angry.

You didn’t even know where the fuck her office was. You were just following Reaper and hoping he did. He led you both to a door and didn’t stop walking, and before you could call out to ask him if he intended to walk through the bloody door, he suddenly turned into a dark mist and disappeared from right in front of you, causing you to almost walk into the wall.

For a moment you just stood there, blankly staring at the clean, cream walls of the building, blinking stupidly. Was that his ‘shifting’ ability? The one where became literally  _ invincible?!  _ What the actual  _ fuck?! _

You looked around, slightly nervous, looking for potential exits, before the door slightly to your left clicked, as if it was being unlocked from the inside. It opened, and alas, there you were, face to face with Reaper himself, and an extremely irritated Dr Angela Zeigler. Her blue eyes narrowed at you when you smirked, mockingly saluting her.

“Good morning, Dr. Zeigler. Lovely to see you again, manipulating and lying to the people of Lamu.” You looked around, noticing the cool air conditioning just then, since your mind was solely focused on finding her. “I never thought I’d actually be pleased with your hatred for tropical temperatures, but this air conditioner is really good.”

“What do you want?” she asked, her accent as thick as ever, her tone clipped.

You dropped the act, going to sit on the table behind her and setting up your sniper rifle. She turned, opening her mouth to begin chiding you, but Reaper materialised right in front of her, his clawed gloves grabbing her chin and forcing her to face him, before he bent down to her height. WIth his other hand he removed his mask, and suddenly he had that sexy, mocking smirk of his, his eyes glowing, as if in mischief. You noticed the quick shiver that passed through Zeigler, disappearing just as immediately as it had come.

You rolled your eyes so far back into your head you could see your brain. It seemed nothing had ever changed. You didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated at that.

“You’ve aged exceptionally well,  _ gatita,”  _ he murmured, the mockery in his tone at the endearment evident. His voice was an octave lower, suave, despite it’s gravelly nature. “Those nanobots you used on yourself are doing a superb job, aren’t they? At least they’re working for one of us.”

_ God  _ his voice was seriously fucking up with your hormones. This was slightly embarrassing, you admitted to yourself. You were a goddamned middle-aged woman and you were having issues dealing with your arousal because your ex-commander, who was  _ fucking undead  _ was mocking someone you thoroughly despised. See your life. You really needed to have a one to one with yourself.

He ran his eyes slowly down her body, before moving them up again, and locking gazes with her. You saw her swallow, and going by the more cruel and sharper turn that smirk took, you knew that he knew it too, cocky piece of shit.

Apparently Gabriel Reyes had never truly died. He and Reaper were almost exactly the same. It was kinda scary, if you were being frank with yourself.

“What do you want, Gabriel?” She managed to ask, her voice neutral, though you could notice the slightly breathy quality it ook. So he  _ had  _ affected her.

“That’s  _ Reyes  _ to you,” he corrected, standing up to his full height. “I want to know what Abdi’s daughter’s name is and what you stand to gain from collaborating with her. I also want to know if she’s revived her father’s sex trade.”

Straight to the point, it seemed. You could work with that. Zeigler looked from him and turned to you. Her eyes kept switching towards a small window to the top right of the room, directly behind him and in front of her. Reaper chuckled, the sound warm, deep , masculine, every bit as caustic as it was sexy. You pretended to be fidgeting with your rifle, shifting in your chair and crossing your legs, trying to deny that hot lust had just dropped from the pit of your stomach straight into your cunt and manifested into liquid heat there. This man was going to  _ end  _ you.

“Let me remind you,  _ ángel  _ that I’m ex-black ops.” The bite in the Spanish version of the meaning of her name send something colder than ice running through your veins. “I know that bitch has snipers protecting you, and I know that there is some signal you’re supposed to give them from that window behind me.” He inclined his head toward aforementioned window, that she’s been staring at. “Need I remind you that my current state is very advantageous to me, because I can hold my shift form indefinitely, in case one of your hired goons comes in here and starts shooting at everything in sight. I will be unharmed, Maya will be unharmed because you are entirely blocking her and  _ you  _ are the one that will be turned into a human sieve after you’re pumped full of lead. Interesting how your most monumental fuck up has turned to serve me now.”

It finally dawned on you (and her) why he had positioned you the way he had.  _ This  _ was why Talon had gone to great lengths to stabilise him as much as they could. The man always thought multiple steps ahead and had contingencies for his contingencies.

Damn.  _ This  _ was one of the reasons you were attracted to him. He was absurdly intelligent.

Zeigler opened her mouth, then closed it again. She took a deep breath, before looking at Reaper. His eyes were narrowed, but he still had that mocking smirk on his face, his head slightly tilted to his side.

“Gab-Gabriel, I’m sorry. I never meant to do this to you. I just wante-”

Just like before, he was  _ incredibly  _ fast, dare you say, faster than he was even after he became a super soldier. He had sheathed one of his shotguns and had lifted Zeigler into the air by the neck. She was choking, her hands gripping his wrist weakly, through the spikes on his glove as he held her by the throat.

“I fucking  _ hate  _ repeating myself, Zeigler. What. The. Fuck, Are You. Doing. Here?” He growled, smirk wiped clean off his face and replaced by a vicious glare.

“Reaper, Maya. Get out. Morrison is on his way,” you heard Widowmaker’s accented voice bark into your earpiece. 

“ _ Joder,”  _ Reaper bellowed as he dropped Zeigler on the ground like a hot coal. You took your rifle and jumped out of the clinic, sprinting the opposite direction you came from, Reaper behind you. Reaper turned around, shooting a couple of shots behind you at what you assumed was Soldier 76, the infamous vigilante, before you burst out the door of your clinic, running towards the van that you had come in. Sombra and Widowmaker were already in there, and Reaper didn’t even have time to slide the door shut before the van was out of there, tyres screeching on the dusty, murram road.

You were way too old for this.


	7. Reliving old memories and feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out a lot angstier than I though, but angst is important, as we all know.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ you shrieked, slamming your fist on on the table for about the fiftieth time. Frustrated couldn’t begin to describe what you were feeling.

You had gotten home about four hours ago, and the first thing you had done was head straight for the shower. Everyone went their own way as well, either to their rooms or out. You were all irritated,  _ pissed the fuck off  _ even. Reaper had literally shot a tree down.  You really were in need of a glass of some very strong scotch at this moment. You’d get drunk within fifteen minutes because of how hot is was, but you didn’t care. You were close, but then fucking  _ Jack Morrison  _ had to come round and ruin everything.

At least you found Maloba. That was just about the only redeeming thing of this evening.

You remembered how sombre the mood was when you and Reaper managed to dive into the van. Sombra was the one driving, something you’re still not sure whether was a good or bad thing because she generally drove like she’s be told her true identity would be revealed to the world is she went slower than 80 kilometres per hour. Generally you had no problem with fast drivers but then you were jumping up and down on a murram road then there was going to be a bit of a problem.

Sombra had zoomed you all towards the beach, and at some point you thought she was contemplating murdering you all and driving you into the ocean. However she abruptly swerved into a tiny, almost unidentifiable road, before you got into an open, shaded area. In there was a tent, and immediately you were greeted with three AK-47s aimed at you. Your impatience having run thin, you were  _ this  _ close to taking Reaper’s shotguns to pop some skulls, before Sombra popped her head from the window,  _ still driving _ (she should really go back to Mexico and sue her driving school, honestly) and loudly identified herself. The AK-47s suddenly disappeared and were replaced by three young-looking men. The quickly approached the car, before Sombra directed them to the back, where you were.

“You’ve finally arrived. We’re so relieved to see you. Maloba would like to see you,” one of them told you in Swahili, his shoulders sagging in relief as a smile broke out on his face. You were out of the car and inside the tent faster than lightning, and Maloba was sitting there, all manner of hydration agents next to him. He smirked at you sarcastically. Oh boy...if Maloba was a native of this region (which he most likely was) you were in for a roast.

His phone had been hacked, and that was how Abdi’s daughter (why the fuck  _ did nobody know her bloody name?!) _ knew that you and Talon were going to be arriving and she arranged for him to be kidnapped, so that your transportation could be compromised. She hired Sarah to take him out, he said, but she was incompetent and left him barely alive, in his house. (He grumbled that if you’re going to assassinate someone at least do it somewhere where they can’t be found easily. You laughed a little at that.) His nephew, the young man that came to speak to him is the one that found him, and they managed to get a traditional doctor who managed to flush the poison out of his system at the cost of his body hydration. He informed you that he was in the process of recovering, that he was going to be fine. He also asked you to inform Ndolo that he would be fine, as because his phone was compromised, he couldn’t do it.

You walked back into the van to explain the situation to everyone else. The mood seemed to ver marginally lift, before Sombra drove you back to the villa again.

So here you were, dressed in a tank, short shorts (you were way too old to wear booty shorts) with both your legs over the table, arms crossed under your bust, still pissed off and grumbling expletives to yourself.

Suddenly, a half-glass of a dark liquid was placed in front of you. Instinctively, you stood up and turned around and was throwing a punch at whoever brought the drink, ready to seriously slug them in the jaw, but your punch was caught by a large hand, and Reaper regarded you as he took a sip of his own drink, before he slightly tightened his grip on your fist, making you wince as he dropped your arm. You couldn’t take you eyes away from his bicep as it relaxed when he lowered your arm.

His hair had grown out quite a bit from the last time you saw him without his hoodie, and there was an errant strand falling over his left eyebrow. The back and the sides had grown out a little too, though they were still significantly shorter than the top of his head. He was shirtless, with gym pants, black and two white strips at the sides from his waist to his feet. He was barefoot and  _ shirtless. _

You swallowed, running your eyes a lot faster than necessary from his feet to look him in the eye, his red eyes shining in mirth at you not-so-subtly checking him out. He was just as lean, just as chiseled and defined as he was before he became Reaper, still nothing but smooth, pure, unadulterated muscle, from his abs, to his chest, to his broad shoulders. His tattoo stood out more starkly against the part of his arm that was light grey, providing a great contrast to his darker shoulder and forearm. A muscle in your jaw twitched. Your lust was beginning to test you again.

He nodded toward your glass. “Brought you some scotch, unless you don’t like it anymore.” His voice was still brusque and low, but there was something inflicted in it that you couldn’t quite place.

You took a sip, relishing in the sting as you swallowed, though your brain promptly reminded you that there were other much more... _ biological  _ fluids you’d rather be swallowing, so you took another sip to get your mind to fucking  _ focus _ on the matter at hand.

“Thank you. Who did you murder to get this? This is some good shit.”

“Glen. Twenty five years. There’s a liquor shop owned by some Italians a couple of blocks from here. They take dollars.”

You took another sip. “What you got in yours?”

“More Glen and six shots of tequila.”

“You know that’s a terribly strong alcoholic mixture. It can probably kill if the quantity consumed isn’t monitored.”

He smirked, and you internally moaned when you noticed the slightly sharper than normal canine. Sex appeal of this magnitude should be declared a crime against humanity and promptly illegalised. Would he shift and let you fall flat on your face like the thirsty dumbass you were if you jumped him that second? Your vagina was rapidly turning into River Nile.

“I’m an undead super soldier. Wouldn’t hurt too bad to test my limits.”

You snorted, before raising your drink to a toast. “Fair point.” He clinked your glasses together, acknowledging the toast, before you both took sips of your respective drinks.

Or more specifically, your drink and his biological weapon.

“Your hair’s grown out quite a bit. I’m a little jealous, I’ll admit.”

He shrugged. “Nanobots. Nothing I can do about it, except continuously shave.” It amazed you that despite not quite being alive he still lived a very normal life.

There was a comfortable silence for a while, as you stared at your drink to stop yourself from ogling him shamelessly. 

“You’re very pissed off. Is it because of Morrison or Zeigler?” he asked you, still regarding you closely. You could  _ feel _ his gaze on you. Why the fuck was he so observant? It shouldn’t have surprised you honestly, considering psychologically (and physically, if your hormones were anything to go by) he was still Gabriel Reyes.

“Both. I’m pissed off that I didn’t get the chance to slice her stomach open and pull out one organ after the other after what she put all my closest aides through, and I’m pissed off that he turned up because no amount of pain, physical, emotional or psychological I inflict on him will never be hurt enough. So now I’m just here with regrets, expletives and some great twenty five year old scotch.”

He whistled lowly. “Damn,  _ chappara,  _ when did you get so ruthless?” His voice was quieter now, and you wondered if he could sense how truly  _ hurt  _ you were.

“It’s been a decade, Commander. Bitterness, hurt and regret tend to fester,” you responded, just as quietly, your hurt and vulnerability coming through.

It had been a relatively long ten or so years. You had lost contact with everyone, and despite your new self-employed status and an increased skillset, you still could not contact your former aides, people who you’d worked with and who you’d suffered a whole lot of injuries with and looked death in the eye and cackled in its face with. The first two or so years were hard. You barely managed to complete assignments and there were times where you’d just sit in your room and cry all night, looking like a zombie the next day. There were some months where you could barely hold it together, just existing on autopilot. You were, unsurprisingly, diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and you could never stop blaming Zeigler and Morrison for the mess that Overwatch became.

You were Maya Otete though, protégé of Captain Ana Amari, and slowly, when you learnt how to manage your illness, your life started coming together again. It took time and effort, but about three years post diagnosis, you could take assignments again, do work, be the sniper than Ana would have been proud off. Sometimes the dark days were there, but you ploughed through them.

You mourned for your mentor and your commander. You mourned for your colleagues, but you also mourned for yourself. You mourned for your silly, little pinning heart, and how after Mauritania you had realised you were slowly falling in love with your commander, and how it would probably never amount to anything, because he was too busy running a secret ops branch to ever settle down. It also dawned on you that he was very well aware of your feelings for him, (Ana told you. Super soldier observations apparently. He could see it in your body language) and though he adored and cherished you as a colleague and a friend, and respected you as an operative, he would never reciprocate your feelings, and until today you weren’t quite sure what stung more: the fact that he put his job above his love life, or the fact that you already knew that he put his job above his love life but you still couldn’t help but love him anyway. It’s a question you never bothered answering for the sake of your soul, or what was left of it anyway.

You had desperately wanted to avenge them all, but you couldn’t. You had contracts to take on, and they took quite a bit of your time, not to mention looking for Zeigler and Morrison would cost you a lot, and as far as you were concerned, the resources put in would not be worth the effort it would take to eradicate them, so for the most part you stewed in anger and resentment.

Then Talon happened, and for the first time in a very long time you were confused, because life seemed to be coming at you kinda fast.

You breathed out loudly, and for the second time that night you were caught unawares when you felt a large, very warm hand on your chin, lifting your head up to look at Reaper. His face was neutral, but you knew better. He had read you again. You were always like an open book to him and to Ana.

“Stop thinking too much. It’s making you absent minded, which is extremely uncharacteristic of you. You don’t need to avenge us. I’m here. Fucked up, but still here. Ana is alive. That much I can assure you,”he murmured, his face barely half an inch in front of yours. You felt his thumb run down your lower lip before it settled under it, and you shuddered, mostly in arousal. He was so close to you, that you wondered if he could feel your face burn up from your proximity. You bit your lower lip, shifting your eyes away from him. You knew, at the back of your mind that you were still in love with him, but it hit you  _ real hard  _ at that point in time, harder than the lust coursing through your body and his masculine scent. It was different now. He smelt of sandalwood and leather: a strong, subtle, masculine scent, and it sent your mind  _ swimming.  _ You swallowed, hoping that the embarrassing sound that was about to come out never would.

“Go to sleep,  _ cariño.  _ You need it for tomorrow.” He let go of your chin and moved out of your way. You were slightly disappointed when his scent slowly faded as well. You don’t know how you able to even stand up straight, let alone walk to your room, but you did, and you blacked the fuck out the moment your head hit the pillow.

Did he ever need sleep though?

...

Why the  _ fuck  _ was it so bright outside? What time was it anyway? You hadn’t even opened your eyes yet and you could hear the waves gently splashing on the beach and the birds chirping and the warm sunlight on your face. What the fuck was this bullshit? This wasn’t some kind of  _ resort.  _ This was a household with a morally questionable hacker, a sniper that was brainwashed to unceremoniously shank her husband to death, an undead mercenary assassin, and  _ you.  _ But alas, mother nature still had time for one of those picturesque romance bright day nonsense. 

You cracked an eye open, and you swore you almost went blind with how obnoxiously bright the sun was. Groaning, you decided might as well get up. Today was info day, so at least Sombra wouldn’t increase your blood pressure substantially with her driving. You were all gonna sit under the marvellous human invention that was air conditioning, gather information and plan out your next course of action.

Also, there was the opportunity to indulge in good food. The cook that you had got (On Talon,s  tab. Maybe you  _ were  _ abusing their generosity at this point) was absolutely fantastic.

After your shower, you got out, to find Sombra and Widowmaker munching breakfast. You went to the kitchen to help yourself, making sure to thank the cook and sing praises to his ancestral line as you helped yourself.

Reaper walked out of his room as you walked out of the kitchen, mouth full of eggs. He, however, was ready to work.

“Okay, sombra. Hit us with the facts.”

Oh boy.


	8. Khadija: a true psychopath

To say you were irritated would be a very,  _ very  _ gross understatement.

You leaned forward, looking at Sombra, and through clenched teeth, you managed to growl out, “Can you please repeat that?”

You could see the hesitance in her eyes, and you assumed that Reaper told her that she’s be fine, because you saw her look towards him before she looked at you again and swallowed. “Someone tried to infiltrate your personal system again. I tracked down the IP and it’s from Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. They were, of course, unable to because I blocked it, but they still made about six more attempts before they stopped.”

There was silence in the room after that, as everyone seemed to wait for the inevitable explosion of temper that you’d unleash. The tension kind of lifted a bit later when you sat back in your chair, sipping your coffee, black, bitter and sugarless, like your soul.

“Do you have an idea of who was behind these recent infiltrations into  _ madame _ ’s channel?” Widowmaker asked.

Sombra nodded, her fingers flying over the holos in front of her at an impressive speed. “Since it’s coming from Dar es Salaam, I strongly suspect it’s Joseph, they guy that did it the first time. I did some background checks on him. He’s pretty difficult to pin down because he’s always using different addresses, but I know it’s him because he uses a consistent series of patterns.”

“What do you have on him for now?” Reaper asked, leaning against the island, facing the three of you on the dining table.

Sombra sighed. “He is definitely working for Abdi’s daughter. I also think that he’s the one that’s been the communication link between her and Mercy and Soldier 76, though I also wouldn’t rule out the fact that they have met face to face. I believe that he’s the link to the all the information that can help us figure out what Mercy and Soldier 76 are all about.”

“Hack them,” you said before you could stop yourself. You doubted she had even finished what she was saying, but you wanted, more than anything to get to the bottom of this. You were already tired of all this shit.

Sombra eyed you, a half smirk on her face. “Easier said than done,  _ señora.  _ As much as I do appreciate your faith in my abilities, if I’m to hack in this  _ pendejo _ ’s system - and it is a very well built and secured system - it’s going to take time, and to reiterate what Reaper says every time he’s about to brutally pop someone’s head off, we’re really short on time.”

“There is a way around it, though,” Widowmaker stated, phrasing the question into a statement, raising her perfectly tweezed eyebrow. How the fuck was she always so flawless? Bitch had just woken up and her hair was already flowing in the non-existent wind. What you would give to be young again.

“Of course there is,  _ bruja.  _ What even do you take me for?” Sombra grumbled, actually offended at the question. You snorted in your coffee.

“We need to call  _ jefe  _ and ask her if she’s got any connections in Dar es Salaam. If she does, I can use their system to try and infiltrate this Joseph person, and once I do I can get all the information that we need.”

Again, you all turned to Reaper. He nodded once to Sombra, curt. “Do what you gotta do,  _ hermanita.” _

You supposed it was time to go brood.

…

As Sombra was making the necessary phone call to your current sponsor, you decided to excuse yourself and go to the beach. You and the current boss (Emma was her name, if you recalled correctly) could not be considered to be on good terms, considering all the snark you threw her way the first and only time you met her, and after you got to know more about her courtesy of Sombra, there was obviously going to be too much of a personality clash between the two of you to ever get along. You knew yourself, and you knew you’d say things that would get you in even more trouble if you stayed. General common sense dictated that that would not entirely be a good idea, considering the amount of money she was paying you, so based on that analysis, you thought it would be best if you left. Widowmaker promised to call you back in when the phone call was over, which you truly appreciated. If she was capable of a semblance of emotion anymore, maybe you’d have a heart to heart with her sometime.

As you were out there, you decided to give your kid brother a call, as you walked around looking for some shade, finding a nice rock under some coconut trees. He had just gotten married, and you didn’t have a chance to go the wedding, because you were busy meeting financiers of terrorist organisations. Many times you wondered what your family would think if they were aware of what your actual job outside “consultancy.” Was it truly for their own benefit that they didn’t know you were an assassin, or was it for your own cowardice, not wanting to have to explain to them that your skillset wasn’t really suited to society’s accepted moral alignment? You smiled sadly. You had no issue with being a black ops agent but explaining to your family why you went around the world popping single bullets into capitalists heads from 2.5 kilometres away.

It felt good talking to him. You felt a little better after hearing his voice. You asked how his wife was doing and joked out when he’d be getting her pregnant. He responded that everyone was fine, including your other siblings and your parents, and you were glad. The last thing you needed was a family emergency in the middle of a mission. You had had that happen before and it was not a good time.

“So, big sis,” your brother begun. You could even hear the playfulness in his voice. You already had the biggest grin on your face. “When are  _ you  _ getting married? Weren’t you going on about that really hot guy you were telling me about? The Afro-Latino from LA? Are you guys still a thing?”

The smile immediately died on your face, and you felt your heart squeeze in pain. You were never prepared for that question, no matter how many times you family asked. How would you even answer it? ‘Nah. We were never truly a thing because he was technically my boss and he was too busy running the secret corps branch of our organisation and getting into a committed relationship would be kinda risky considering our lines of work. I still couldn’t help but hopeless fall in love with him, despite the fact he would never return my feelings in a romantic way or even consider getting into a long-term commitment with me. What I get for being a sniper in a secret organisation within a not-so-secret organisation. Ha ha.’

“No,” you said instead, impressed that your voice was still neutral. “We aren’t a thing. We were never really a thing, honestly. I just had a bit of a crush on him, is all.” Why did it literally, physically  _ hurt  _  to say that?

“Oh. My bad. Perhaps you should look for him and see of maybe you can work something out? From what you told us he seemed like a really dope guy, and I know it’s really late but maybe if you came clean with your feelings and asked him out he could consider it?” 

You nearly choked. How  _ the fuck  _ would you even start explaining who Reaper was?  _ What  _ Reaper was? ‘Dude, that’s kinda complicated. See, he’s an undead mercenary, on the semi-permanent contractual employment to a terrorist organisation. He was killed when Overwatch blew up, and then the head medic kinda fucked up with her nanobots trying to resurrect him because she thought due to her advanced study in the area she could literally bring him back to life because perhaps she may have had a thing for him too, but that didn’t turn out too well.’ Nope, not particularly convincing.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll make a couple of calls.”

You weren’t sure how much more you could take before Sombra thankfully called you back in. You quickly said your goodbyes to your sibling, thanking the Fates profusely and hung up, briskly walking back into the villa. The air conditioning felt so good, and for a moment you just stood in there, goofy smile on your face as you felt the cold air whoosh all over your body.

Everyone else just stared at you like you had grown an extra head.

“Why are you acting like you don’t live in this kind of climate?” Sombra mumbled, eyeing you with an incredulous look on her face.

You raised your eyebrow back. “I’m an inlander. I can take heat but humidity is a whole other different story. Are you actually gonna tell us what Emma said or are you all gonna judge me for legitimately enjoying the air conditioning?”

Everyone in the room was serious again. Reaper had a dark looking liquid in his tumblr, and you strongly suspected it was an obscenely strong alcoholic drink again. Advantages of being undead: you could drink some seriously thorough chemical mixtures in the guise of “alcohol” when it was about thirty five degrees outside and never great drunk. You may or may not have been slightly jealous.

“So I got in touch with Emma. She gave me some contacts of people we can contact in Dar Es Salaam. When I checked them out I found out that some of them have some very tenacious, but direct connections to this Abdi’s daughter, but I can’t investigate unless I know what exactly it is we’re looking for. We know that Zeigler and Morrison are connected to her and whatever sketchy shit she’s up to, but we don’t know  _ how.  _ Of course there is money involved, but that really won’t help us in this mission, because money is  _ everywhere.” _

In other words we needed a neutral party. Someone who wasn’t involved in this hot mess, but someone who had connections to the dirty underworld. You grinned maniacally, causing everyone else to regard you a little uncertainly.

“Yo, Reaper, how long is it gonna take to get a chopper here? We’re going to Zanzibar.”

…

Rohan had been on house arrest for the past six years. You honestly had no idea how he managed to convince the president to let him stay out here for this long, still indulging in his expensive drug habit, despite the fact that it was what nearly got him killed in prison and it was what was killing him here.

Humidity in Unguja was stifling as usual, and as beautiful as Zanzibar generally was, this is why you rarely came here anymore. You could barely breathe, and Sombra and Widowmaker weren’t looking very amused.

“I feel like I’m under Satan’s armpit. Even Marseille isn’t this hot,” Widowmaker grumbled, pushing her hair off her damp forehead.

You had all just landed on a beach next to the mansion that Rohan’s father had built with all the drug money he built before he was promptly murdered by his son, the son who was currently under house arrest and somehow managing to go through more drugs than his father ever was. The sand was white, and waters clear, a pretty blue. This place looked like a postcard.

“Welcome to Mangapwani, my friends. Here you’ll see more needles that basic food supplies, and I wager you’re all gonna absolutely  _ love  _ Rohan.”

“Might as well just load my gun now,” Reaper quipped, making you snort. You were really looking forward to this trip.

You got to the front of his house, and his small army of guards were already approaching you menacingly. You sighed. Reaper was in a fucking hoodie and baggy black khakis. Sombra and Widowmaker looked like they were on holiday, in their tiny shorts and midriff tanks. You just had a t-shirt and basketball shorts. It would be a bit difficult to believe you were coming to visit a drug addict that ran an international kind of illegal arms dealing ring, but here you were.

“We’ve come to see Rahul. We have an appointment with him at - “ you looked at your watch. “ - Fifteen minutes to one. May and her crew,” you muttered in rapidfire Swahili. You really thanked the fates for growing up with the same dialect as these people spoke. The moment they realised you weren’t from Zanzibar or mainland Tanganyika there would be a bit of a problem, and you really weren’t in the mood of explaining to Rahul how Reaper murdered his entire front gate security because they were irritating him.

It took a few more moments before information was relayed back and forth before you were finally allowed in. One of the guards kept checking Widowmaker out. You shared a look with Reaper, smirking knowingly. Their chances were literally non-existent, despite Swahili men being extremely charming.

You were led into the sitting room by a maid, and the moment you took one look at Rahul, you almost cringed. He  _ definitely  _ looked worse than the last time you saw him. There was someone with a white gown to his left, someone that looked very suspiciously like a doctor who was mixing a white powder in pure water, before pulling it up a syringe. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was heroin, and he was smoking crack. There were two other maids around him, standing with trays of fruit and fresh juice to his right. The doctor turned to look at you, slightly surprised that neither of you was appalled to what you were looking at. Either way he inclined his head slightly in your direction in greeting. You noticed the look he gave Reaper, and the look Reaper gave him, and you rolled your eyes, causing Reaper to smirk and the doctor to quickly turn back to his work, no doubt blushing.

You responded in turn, as you waited for him to inject Rohan with the drug. A few moments later, you could see Rohan, and you whistled lowly. His skin was absolutely terrible, and he had definitely put on more unhealthy weight. He squinted, staring at you before he wheezed what you truly hoped was a laugh, because if it wasn’t then getting out of this place wasn’t going to be easy. You noticed Reaper staring at the doctor’s ass as he shuffled away. He’d definitely hit that.

“Otete,” he growled. Even his voice sounded sickly. “It’s been a while huh? What are you doing here? Come back to tell me how to live my life? And why haven’t you welcomed the guests? EMI!”

You actually scowled when he tried to yell towards the end there, since he devolved into a fit of coughs so heavy, you were expecting his lungs to tear right out of his chest in a mess of blood, bones and tissue any second now. Nonetheless a little maid rushed in, quickly asking in fluent but heavily accented English what Sombra, Widowmaker and Reaper would have. On her boss’ order she never asked you, and when all of them declined, she literally  _ curtsied _ before leaving just as quietly and quickly as she had come.

“You’re so hospitable to my colleagues yet you treat me like I’m a bucket of shit,” you said, sardonic.

“That’s because you  _ are  _ a bucket of shit,” he responded, devolving into another fit of coughs. “What the fuck do you want?”

You popped up your holos, bringing up the pictures of Morrison and Zeigler, zooming them out for him to see. “They’re working with Abdi’s daughter, who for some reason no one knows what the fuck her name is. They’re running around the Kenyan coast, pretending to be helping the locals but we know they stand to benefit somehow. We wanna know if you have anything on them.”

Rohan stares at the pictures, scratching his beard. “What do I get for this?”

“Five hundred thousand Euros. Wired into your account immediately,” Reaper responded next to you. Oh. So he  _ had _ planned for this. Rohan turned to him, as if he had suddenly realised he was there, narrowing his eyes at him.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

Reaper nodded at you. “I’m with her. You wanna tell me she left Kilifi  to come fuck around with you when you’ve got an arms ring to run and drugs to consume? I don’t think so. Five hundred thousand Euros wired into your account immediately. Take it or leave it.”

There was a tense silence in the room for a moment, before Rohan started talking. “Abdi’s daughter is called Khadija. She’s been trying to revive her father’s ring, and she got it up and running recently. It was difficult for her because it took her time to find out all the islands in the Caribbean where her father stuffed his money before your pal there threw a dagger in between his eyes. It also took a while for her to find out who was behind the spectacular crash and burn of her father’s ring, get his clientele to trust him and get new connections and routes to revive this business. It has taken her the better part of a decade, and I’ll admit she has done a pretty fantastic job at it.”

“She hired these two about two years before your jobs went boom in Switzerland, and they are definitely part of the reason she’s a successful as she is. The doctor in particular, the one from Switzerland is the greediest little bitch I’ve ever met. That woman would sell her grandmother for money, and the super soldier is just extremely self-serving. I think all the blackmail and Overwatch not being what he thought it was fucked him up real bad that he was willing to say fuck it and just work for his own interest. The doctor is the one that lures young women in the community she works with, before she has the kidnapped and transported to warehouses in Mombasa and Malindi, and I think she just set up a new one in Lamu. Khadija is paying them a shit tonne of money, because I think she wants to collaborate with them and get good use of their connections. The super soldier travels between the containers to see none of the goods have run away, and if any of them does he normally kills them. He’s pretty merciless.” He attempted to shrug, but you noticed barely any movement. “That’s all I know of them, but I just wanna warn you, they won’t take to you guys being here very well.”

“How do you know so much about them?” You asked.

“I service their weapons.”

The silence was almost deafening as Sombra wired the money to Rohan.

“Oh, and if you think Abdi was vicious, Khadija is everything you’ve ever despised about her father but worse. Much worse. She wanted to murder her mother in the style that Rasputin was, but the thing was she died after eating the cyanide. She still carried on with the rest of the process though, just for shits and giggles. That’s the kind of psychopath you’re dealing with.”

You were really,  _ really  _ beginning to despise this mission,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn will most likely be in the next chapter. For now, I hope you enjoyed the plot.


	9. The Bad Gets Worse

There were two facts that you’d established here, good news and bad news. The good news was, you had received a whole _lot_ more information than you thought Rohan would give you. The bad news was, you had received a whole _lot_ more information than you thought Rohan would give you.  Information was good when you knew exactly what to do with it. Being bombarded with an overabundance of it meant you had to sit down and take it apart, bit by bit and try and figure out what would be relevant for you now and in the future, something that tended to take quite a bit of time.

You were very quickly running out of time.

You had all gotten back from Zanzibar in the evening, taken a shower, eaten dinner, released the chef and you were now gathered on the dining table. “Sombra, tell us how you’re gonna approach this,” Reaper asked, leaning backwards into his chair, his left ankle over his right knee, large arms crossed over his muscular chest, chewing on his lower lip.each of you musing over what Rohan had said. Sombra had confirmed that everything Rohan had said, combined with the list of people from Emma had given her a good idea of how she was going to hack this Joseph character. She, like the rest of you, were very convinced that once you were able to get into Joseph’s networks, a significant portion of this mission would be nearly solved, since you would be able to make more accurate plans instead of just depending on blind luck, which admittedly, you had been doing a lot of in the recent past. That offended you, as a sniper, because you were used to doing things carefully and methodically based on accurate information. Not to say that luck never played a part, but for the most part is was minimal

 

“Well, going by what _drogadicto_ told us, I can use a combination of his information and the names and contacts that _jefe_ gave me to hack into Joseph’s networks. Once I’m in there I can mine all the information that we need for now, and then any information we’ll need in the future for plans and contingencies. And then give us updates based on any new information he gets. I also contacted another of the names _jefe_ gave me and it looks like Khadija has infiltrated the entire authority chain in the region. She has the Tanzanian, Kenyan, Ugandan, Sudanese, South Sudanese and Burundian very senior government and military officials in her payroll, and she’s currently trying to infiltrate the Rwandese. Trying to fight her head on wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Hmm,” Widowmaker hummed, looking at her perfectly manicured nails. “No wonder Soldier 76 is running around the coast in broad daylight and all the authorities are unperturbed. I had been wondering why an international vigilante would be so...what is the word...obviously showing himself with no shame. The masses I can’t fault for not understanding just how dangerous and wanted his is because this seems like a very remote area and survival is more important than anything else, but the authorities I doubt have any excuse.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. Widowmaker, or anyone else in your little squad here, for that matter quite didn’t understand how _deep_ corruption ran in this part of the world, and quite frankly you weren’t in the mood to start explaining it. There were other things that you had to focus on. Corruption would come later.

As these thoughts were going through your mind, you looked up and Sombra caught your gaze, a small smirk on her face. Your own lips twitched in response, and you knew she understood. She understood the kind of corruption you were all about, and still with that small smile, she went straight to work, opening about 5 holos and getting straight to work. It was probably going to be a long night for her.

“So, as Sombra is working on Joseph and info, I think we need to talk about Zeigler and Morri-”

You were interrupted by a particularly obnoxious tone from your phone. It was from Ndolo. Your eyes narrowed. Ndolo’s almost exclusive form of communication with you was text. If he was going out of his way to call, then this was something truly urgent.

You looked at your colleagues, even Sombra who had stopped her work, no doubt distracted by Ndolo’s call. You looked at Reaper, whose crimson eyes were glowing. You swallowed when he stared at you, feeling as though his eyes were burning you from the inside out. When you thought about it they probably were, both from lust and fear.

He nodded once, brusque, at the phone, and you carefully grabbed it, as if it was a bomb that would go off if handled too roughly. You answered it, putting it to your ear.

“Ndolo.” You voice was neutral. You fidgeted with one of your dreads under your ponytail, twisting the tip between your fingers, a nervous tick of yours from back in the day. You highly doubted you would be receiving good news with this call.

“You have to come to us right now. All of you. We have someone here that you _must_ see. I don’t have specifics about what you and your friends are up to, but I have a hunch that this person is going to be very integral to your visit.” he was speaking in rapid fire Swahili, meaning he didn’t want unnecessary outside ears, if there were any, listening.

You immediately put the call on loudspeaker. This was something that everyone definitely needed to hear. “Okay. What is going on there?”

There was silence for a moment. “One of my boys found a young lady who was being sold off into slavery,” he started, his voice matter of fact. “She’s from Kigali, and she came here on holiday with her friends. She said they were drugged, before being dragged into the back of a four wheel drive, with her aforementioned two friends. I can’t give you the rest of the details over the phone. She’s absolutely frantic, and I’m not in the business of comforting traumatised young women. I think she’ll open up more when she talks to you.”

God fucking dammit. “Ndolo, I’m a sniper. I don’t think I’m in the business of comforting traumatised young women either, but we’ll be there soon. Just try and keep her calm.” You hang up immediately, before telling everyone else what was happening, and that you needed to get to Ndolo’s place of business immediately.

“Widowmaker, you and Sombra stay here, get all that information ready and available for us when we get back. Maya and I are gonna see this,” Reaper ordered, grabbing his hoodie and sprinting out to the van you were using, you very closely following behind him.

Reaper’s driving was not quite a bad as Sombra’s, but there were times where you thought if you muttered a quick prayer to some deity or other they’d let you live a couple of more years. You’d gotten there soon enough, and you saw some of the younger men in Ndolo’d nephew’s squad jump out of the way as if they would be run over by your current driver.

You led yourselves into the house, and it was very homey. The walls were painted a bright yellow, with reclining leather couches, a beautiful bamboo coffee table, a television with a sound system all over. On the one seater was a young woman, being fussed over by an older lady, wrapped up in very many blankets. The lady looked up to you and Reaper and smiled slightly. You assumed she was Ndolo’s wife.

“Hello,” she greeted you, standing up from the young lady, slightly trembling on the sofa still and walking towards you both. “My husband told me that you would be coming to talk to Ethel. Please be gentle with her. She’s still very shaken. She witnessed the murder of her friend, so just forgive her if she’s not entirely receptive.”

It took you a moment to translate to Reaper what she’d told you, before you nodded to her and politely thanked her. Reaper took one glance at the young woman, who stared at both of you with wide eyes, absolutely terrified. “I’ll be in the car. Connect me on Bluetooth so I can hear this convo. I’ll have translator on in case she can’t speak English,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, the low timbre of his voice awakening a roaring fire in the pit of you belly. You swallowed, mostly in lust before nodding, approaching the young woman on the chair with you hoped was a reassuring smile.

You turned back to her, and though you knew Kim, Ndolo’s wife had done her best to clean up and treat her, she had truly been through a nightmare. You could see the fresh grazes and wounds, the one on her bicep still bleeding sluggishly through her bandage, as all the others has slightly glazed, though still sore and red, despite her dark skin. Her face was still quite swollen, though you were sure it was worse than that before. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had suffered a concussion before this, but right now she was probably out of shock. She was eerily calm, though definitely still terrified. She seemed to have calmed down from when you last spoke to Ndolo on the phone, which was an improvement, you supposed.

“Hi,” you said gently, pulling one of the numerous poufs lying around and sitting on it at her feet. She looked away from you, staring at what you assumed was her lap.”I know you’re tired and scared after what has happened to you, but if you’re not willing to talk to me right now, I’m willing to leave you be, let you rest. I just need information from you, because I’m going to stop the man that did this to you. I’ve been hired to do that, but I need your help to do it. I can’t promise to rescue all the other young girls, but I can promise to stop this man and his allies from continuing what he’s doing.”

She looked up at you again, before she nodded, frantically wiping her eyes. You assumed (hoped) she was agreeing to your suggestion. “I’m going to leave you with Kim and her husband tonight, okay? They are good people and they will take care of you. I’ll come back tomorrow when you’re feeling better and then we can talk, alright?”

She nodded again, and you made a slightly hesitant motion to rub her back sympathetically before you stood up and left. You exchanged glances with Ndolo before leaving the house. On your way to the van you saw a corpse, or what was left of it. It was well hidden, only visible if you were looking for it. It was dried up, completely shrivelled and it looked like the person had died quite a painful death. You had a feeling you knew why that corpse looked like that. You got the van and found Reaper there, playing with a black and red orb, slightly glowing, a sort of flame surrounding it. At the handbrake of the car was one of his shotguns, slightly warm, which means he had used it, most likely on the poor asshole that you saw dead a couple of moments earlier.

You gulped, hoping it wasn’t as loud as it sounded to you, as you glanced at the orb slightly levitating on the tip of his long index finger. “A soul. The owner was a greedy, spineless coward,” he murmured, smirking slightly. You felt your pussy get slightly wet at seeing his sharper than normal canines. “I gathered he wouldn’t need it anymore, so I took it.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out, so instead you just closed it and stared at him, as he stared right back, his eyes glowing. Still smirking, he promptly swallowed the soul, closing his eyes and moaning low, obviously in bliss. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, watching his adam’s apple bob up and down as he _swallowed_ it, and at that point all you could register was if you could induce the same bliss in him, when you’d be riding his cock.

You managed to pull your gaze away, pretending to be planning what you would ask the young victim that somehow managed to escape, but your face was heating up, as your heart beat faster and you shifted in your seat, trying and failing to control how much wanted to fuck your ex commander.

His chuckle as you drove off was _not_ helping matters in the least.

…

You were just a bit grumpy today.

It had been a fitful night, and predictably, you hadn’t slept very well, your body going between aroused and terrified. You were well aware of what Reaper was, of what he had become, but it was a whole different ball game _actually_ watching it live, with your own two eyes. The fact that he was able to materialise the essence of another living being’s soul and _consume_ it…

At this point you weren’t even sure what you should be feeling: terror at watching him consume a soul, arousal at how he looked consuming it, or incredulity at how you were even wondering about what to feel about this whole scenario.

It had, however, turned out to be a very productive morning, despite your personal feelings. You managed to get back to Ndolo’s (you drove this time. Letting anyone else drive at this point felt like far too unnecessary of a risk, and you were too old to still be taking such risks) to talk to the young lady that escaped from Morrison and Zeiger’s clutches, and by extension Khadija’s, and boy didn’t she have a lot to say.

She was a lot less terrified of Reaper, which was a good thing, and she decided for his sake to conduct the whole conversation in English. She was one of the unfortunate victims that was going to be sold off into sexual slavery. She confirmed what Ndolo said, that she was here at the Kenyan coast from Rwanda on holiday with her two friends. They had left one of their friends in the cottage and two of them went to a club. She suspects their drinks were spiked, because the next thing she knew she was sluggish and half conscious, after having being slapped, punched, and generally roughed up and then dragged to a truck. They were unceremoniously thrown in there, and her friend couldn’t stop yelling for help. She didn’t know where they were, and she was too terrified to do anything. Morrison (you knew it was him because she described his outfit, his mask and his gun) came out, tired of her yelling and without saying a word, pulled her friend out by the hair, dragging her down the ground. She said he grabbed her like she was a feather, showing no effort at all, before pushing her against a tree and shooting her head with his large rifle. He turned around, leaving her body there as he continued driving.

All the other young women were to terrified to do anything after that, after they saw what would become of them, but she refused. She refused to give up, and at some point when the truck was moving slower, she took a risk and jumped out from the back, into a thicket, and staying still for a moment, making sure the truck was long gone. She didn’t remember what happened after, and she suspects she was blacked out. All she knew was that she woke up, in this house, surrounded by people she never knew, tired, weak and absolutely terrified. She never knew where she was going or what was going to be done to her.

You thanked her, giving Ndolo some cash to take her to a hospital in Mombasa to be thoroughly checked and taken back to her friend, and maybe they could go home. You felt slightly sorry for her, knowing that she’d be forever traumatised by this whole event, and it would probably fuck her up emotionally and psychologically, but at the very least she would be on her way back home and not being raped by some scumbag of a man.

“You never change, making things so much easier for me,” you heard a familiar growl, in a thick American accent. You turned around, barely able to get a curse word out before something heavy hit your temple, and your vision went black.


	10. Regrets and Pleasures

Your head was straight up  _ murder,  _ and there was an annoying adhesive across your entire left cheek. You felt a blinding white light through your eyelids, and you knew if you’d open them you’d be temporarily blind. Regardless, against your better judgement, you opened your eyes, and the brightness not only made your eyes sting and made your headache worse. Immediately your eyes popped back closed.

You were in your room in the villa, going by the fluffy pillows, crisp sheets and very warm and comfortable duvet. You didn’t remember your lights being this bright though.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you grumbled, before you choked, because of how rough and dry your throat was. You coughed quietly for a bit, before continuing your statement. ”Can someone switch off the bloody lights? Why are they so goddamn bright?”

You felt some shuffling beside you, and you turned your head from where the sound came from, popping an eye open and seeing light blue skin, amber eyes and deep, purple painted lips, a long flowy ponytail and an indifferent facial expression. Fantastic. You’d just awoken from the realm of darkness, regret and pain and it was fucking  _ Widowmaker  _ that greeted you when you joined everyone else in the realm of the conscious. What was real life?

“Ah, you’re awake. Let me get Reaper. He has been very worried,” she said, voice impassive as she stood up and walked out. You wanted to respond with something sarcastic, but you barely had the strength to, so you just rolled your head back to stare at the ceiling, closing your eyes and clenching your teeth, berating yourself for your carelessness. You internally snorted (actually doing it would hurt multiple places, and you just regained consciousness after being smacked in the back of your head with a 1.5 kg pulse rifle. You were no masochist) because you remembered what Reaper told you a couple of nights ago. Thinking too much really wasn’t your thing, since you tended to lose your concentration and now look.

Reaper rushed in, his body from the waist down nothing but mist, gliding on the floor. He was wearing a grey t-shirt, a bit buggy on his form. For once he had no head gear, and his hair had grown  _ a lot  _ more. The back and sides were a small afro and the curls at the top of his head were being held back with an afro comb. “Maya!  _ Cariño,  _ are you alright?” His voice, though still maintaining the gravelly tone you had come to get used to hearing, had a slight lilt to it, meaning he was  _ extremely  _ worried. Your heartbeat increased, feeling warm fuzziness flood your whole body. From the corner of your eye, you saw Widowmaker sneak out, quietly closing the door behind her, leaving you and Reaper alone, something you appreciated. You felt his hand behind your head, his fingers through your dreadlocks as he cradled it delicately, helping you sit up. You later dropped it in your hand after you managed to sit up, wincing, trying to calm down the expansive pain suddenly shooting through your skull. Reaper handed you a glass of water, which you took and drained, then a second one and half of a third one.

“Thank you,”you managed, still trying to ignore the pain going through your head. You suddenly realised the bandage on your cheek, and you pressed it slightly, hissing in pain as it stung. “Jesus, Father and Spirit,” you mumbled, tapping at it as if it was made of glass. You didn’t want to know what had caused it.

“Pebble sliced through your cheek as Morrison dragged you on the ground. It’s just a flesh wound, nothing too serious, but it’ll probably slightly scar.” Damn, you knew Morrison wasn’t particularly fond of you, but you never knew the hate ran that deep, though considering all the circumstances, you shouldn’t have been surprised. You probably despised him just as much, if not more.

A silence settled between the two of you. It was unnerving, to say the least. You looked down at his legs, and much to your disappointment, he had grey khakis on, and he was barefoot.

“You can shift with clothes on?” It was an evasion tactic to avoid the inevitable conversation that was going to happen, and going by his raised eyebrow you doubted it had worked.

“That’s not what you want to talk about. Don’t fucking bullshit me and say what you wanna say,” he snapped at you, his voice lower and sounding all the more dangerous.

All the more  _ sexy.  _ You swallowed.

“What happened?” You asked quietly. He was angry at you, and he had every right to be. When you were talking to Ethel, at some point Reaper informed you that he was going to be in the car. You nodded, connecting your bluetooth device so that he could be able to listen to the conversation as well. You agreed that you would get back immediately the interview was finished, but you decided to go out through the back, to the beach. Granted you needed time to clear your mind, but you would have had ample time for that in the car on the way back to the villa, and even at the villa itself when you got there.

Instead, as usual, you got careless, forgetting that people who wanted you dead as much as you wanted them dead were around, one of them a super soldier, whose abilities you were very well aware of because you had worked both with and for him before.

He growled, and you swallowed again, this time in absolute disappointment and humiliation.

“One of Ndolo’s nephew’s guys saw you being dragged on the beach by Morrison, recognised who he was and immediately got back to get a squad to go save your fucking dumbass. As they were getting whooped Ethel managed to come get me and tell me you’d been spotted with Morrison, and I only got there in time to push him off one of the boys he was definitely about to strangle. He left when the odds were against him. There were four casualties. Nothing particularly serious, just a bunch of broken limbs. Sombra wired cash from your account to Ndolo’s to pay for all the costs. It’s the least you can do. Ndolo’s disappointed, but he knows you, and he knew you’d do something like this, plus I suppose the fact that he doesn’t have to pay for it placates him a bit.”

You said nothing, looking at your hands and trying to will the tears away. People who shouldn’t be involved in this now were because of you. You reached for your phone, wanting to call Ndolo, but you were too embarrassed, so instead you just stared at it. Of course you had to apologise, and you knew Ndolo. He’s probably already forgiven you, but you still felt obligated to at the very least apologise.

After a few seconds and a few hastily wiped tears later, you sent him a text, and offering to pay for him professional security. You knew he’d decline, because Ndolo could take care of himself, but you thought you should offer. God knows you deserved to.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice cracking, finally letting the tears fall.

“For what? Getting emotionally invested? Sending people to hospital? Inconveniencing the fucking mission?” He sounded so sarcastic, it actually stung.

“I donno,” you said, raising your voice as it cracked. “Probably everything? Fucking existing? Ruining your life at Talon?”

He turned back to you, crimson eyes narrowed. “Don’t you  _ bloody dare _ give me lip,” he growled.

“Why? It’s not like you care about anyone or anything anymore. Aren’t you just mad I postponed your ability to pop some heads and consume some souls? You’ve changed. You don’t give a fuck anymore about stuff you used to or stuff I do. I  _ haven’t  _ changed. I’m still me, still like this, and I’m sorry I wandered off and went and got myself injured and inconvenienced everyone.” You snapped, somehow managing to hold yourself together long enough before you finally broke down, the physical, mental and emotional weariness finally taking a head as you sobbed quietly in your hands, your shoulders heaving.

So much regret and so much weary sadness was flowing out through those tears, and it seemed that Reaper could sense this. You were still weeping when you felt yourself being pulled into a hard, muscular body, powerful arms wrapping around you. You buried your face in his chest, gripping his shirt on the shoulder and letting it all out, the sounds of your crying being muffled by his shirt.

For the next few minutes he never said anything as you continued crying, staining his shirt with tears and snort, he just held you, pulling you closer to him when he felt you sag even lower against him, all the toll slowly shutting down your body.

“ _ Hermosa,”  _ he begun, pulling you off of him and wiping your tears away with a thumb, handing you a tissue. He was silent as he watched you noisily blow your nose, and wipe off all the snort from your face. You mustered the courage to look at him and he had a half smirk on his face.

“You’re such an ugly crier.”

“Shut the fuck up, undead, ghost man.”

“Real talk, I snapped at you. I probably shouldn’t have, but you also shouldn’t have wandered off like that. You knew Morrison was around. You could have at least told me to accompany you. I’m probably the only one that can take him in hand to hand. I was...I was scared, Maya.  _ Terrified.  _ I lost so much, I lost fucking everyone,  _ everything _ . The world believes I’m a traitor after everything I did for it. I lost Ana, I lost Jesse, I lost Wilhem, I lost Torb, I lost Fareeha, I lost...Jack, though, though I don’t think I ever had him. Even to some extent I lost fucking Angela. I lost Overwatch. I lost Blackwatch. All my operatives, my hard work, my legacy. Gone. Poof, like a nightmarish magic trick. Then out of nowhere I suddenly found you, and I just, I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t, Maya. The thought of losing you again, it was too much.”

His voice was calm and clear, never cracked, wavered or changed. This wasn’t Reaper anymore, this wasn’t even Commander Reyes. This was  _ Gabe.  _ He was still there, still hidden in the deep recesses of his subconscious. You started crying again, quieter this time when you realised he was being this open and vulnerable with you, something you doubted he had had the privilege of sharing for the past decade and a bit.

“You were one of my closest friends, one of my dearest operatives,  _ dulzura.  _ I don’t want to lose you, not again.”

You latched into him again, promptly forgetting that you had just been ugly-crying all over him and your face fell on the wet, teary and snorty part of his shirt. He laughed softly.

“Why am I such a dumbass?” you mumbled in his chest, face burning with humiliation. He pulled you away from him again, his hand on your chin, this time, wiping your face of your own mess himself.

“You always cracked me up,” he murmured, crimson eyes piercing straight through any form of resistance you attempted to put up. You dropped your gaze, unable to keep eye contact. How were you still so hopelessly in love with him even after all this time?

“Is there a way I can make it up to you?” you murmured, looking everywhere else except at him.

You never expected it, but your heart exploded in your chest when he immediately leaned down and captured your mouth with his, kissing you with the desperation of a man that had found water in a desert. You eyes widened, in complete contrast to his half-lidded ones, and when his hand that wasn’t on your chin dropped to your side, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you even closer against him, you couldn’t help but moan in his mouth, ultimately closing your eyes and submitting to him, like you’d had been dreaming of doing in the recent past.

He gently pushed you back, climbing over you on the bed, his hand on your chin dropping next to you to support himself as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Breathing in deeply through your nose you obliged, opening your mouth for him and one of your hands clutched his shirt like a lifeline and the other frantically removed these annoying beddings that were in the way of your bodies. You kicked them off completely, sitting on the bed with nothing but sleeping shorts, and your thirsty ass instinctively ground into him, making him growl and he ground right back and liquid heat instantaneously spread all over your body like lava, lust burning you from the inside out.

You broke the kiss, needing to breathe, but his mouth moved down your jaw, to your neck, nipping and biting. You had wanted this for so long,  _ too  _ long, and now that you had it you weren’t going to delay. Your hands moved to the waistband on his pants, opening them up and pulling them down, coming into contact with skin, and your eyes popped open in embarrassment, because he had no underwear on. The moved up, tugging his shirt up, and for a moment he let go of you and as you fell on the bed with a soft squeak, his lips still attached to your neck and he  _ ripped  _ his shirt, literally tearing it off his body because he couldn’t be fucking bothered to actually take it off like a normal person, and at this rate there were floods going on between your legs. Honestly, you doubted there was anything more masculine than having a man tear his own clothes off because fuck conventional methods of doing anything.

You hands, at their own discretions moved over him, his shoulders, his chest, his abs, and the man was a masterpiece. Your mind, drowning in lust at this point was overwhelmed at the smooth skin, battle scarred, defined muscle, hard and chiseled, and when he roughly pulled your shorts over your legs (you were also not wearing any underwear, to your chagrin) and slipped two fingers in between your legs, making sure his thumb brushed over your clit, all you could do was moan his name, his  _ real  _ name, in full, throwing your head back because Jesus Father  _ Lawd  _ the man was going to end you.

“Say it again,” he commanded, his voice deeper, rougher, huskier, and you obliged.

“ _ Gabriel,”  _ you whined and he grunted in response, pulling your tank off and kissing his way down your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth as he positioned himself in between your legs, pulling them around his waist.

“Jesus,” you gasped out, wrapping both your arms around his broad shoulders. You dragged your wet lips against his cock, long, hard and thick in between his lips, and he rumbled something in Spanish, definitely a swear word before he angled himself into a better position between your thighs and thrust in smoothly.

You weren’t even sure you were in the realm of the living anymore, because he did it so gently, so delicate, like you were made of glass. He paused for a moment, his breathing on your neck ragged, giving you time to adjust to his thick girth.

“So fucking  _ tight,”  _ He mumbled.

“Oh my, Gabriel,” you breathed, not even sure if he heard it, shifting slightly on him, as he pulled out ever so slowly and pushing back in, firm, but gentle, so sweet, so  _ phenomenal.  _ He set a pace, so slow and sweet yet so  _ deep,  _ his cock brushing over your cervix with every thrust, as you relished the feel of him against your walls. You moved with him, grinding your hips against him, rubbing his back gently and whispering all sorts of endearments at him, how amazing and sweet and perfect he was, running your hands over his soft, thick hair, burying your nose in it and kissing his cheeks and his ears.

“You were always mine, weren’t you,  _ querida, _ ” he whispered in your ear, as he held you against him, his smooth strokes taking you closer and closer to your peak. “Always ready to give everything of yours to me: your body, your heart, your soul, your mind, your cum, all of it, all of  _ you, _ just  _ mine,”  _ he finished with a hot kiss on your neck.

“Yes. Yes Gabriel,” you babbled, so overwhelmed by the pleasure you could barely think straight. “I’m yours, all of me.  _ Yours.” _

Naturally, something had to give, and you came, your face buried in his shoulder, as you wailed his name one more time, spasming under him, clamping down on his cock. It’s not long until he followed, snarling your name as he spilled himself inside you, filling you with jet after jet of his thick cum. In fact he came so much that he wasn’t even done with his orgasm before some it started to spill out, flowing over his dick and down the sides of your thighs.

Still breathing heavily, he gently placed you on the bed, before collapsing on your side. You turned to him, wrapping your legs over his and cuddling against him and his warmth, not letting go.

“Goodnight,  _ mpenzi,”  _ you murmured. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mpenzi is Swahili for my love.
> 
> You guys better have fucking enjoyed this smut bruh. Not only did it take me about four days to work on (because feels and alladat), but I had to pause like four times writing it because I am too far into the trash pit for Reaper. Someone save me.


	11. It's Gonna Be a Long Bloody Day

The bed was warm, and you were surrounded by a scent of leather and sandalwood.

Your eyes popped open, and in your immediate line of sight was a bare chest, broad and muscular, covered with smooth, dark skin and having a very thin layer of smoke emanating from it. As you slowly joining the realm of the awake, you noticed there was a strong arm around you, powerful legs tangled with your own, a hot, hard body against yours. One of your arms was wrapped around a broad shoulder, your other arm bent, your palm pressed delicately against a pectoral.

You swallowed, as you remembered exactly what had happened last night, your face suddenly heating up as you blushed in both shyness and embarrassment as you remembered what you did. The humiliation tripled as you remembered what you  _ said. _

Oh boy.

“Good morning,  _ chava, _ ” Reaper greeted you. His voice still had that husky quality to it from last night, and you shivered in his arms, because holy shit did it do things to you.

“Morning Ga-Comma-Reaper,” you stuttered, not sure how you should refer to him now. You managed a quick glance at him, then looked away when you saw that sardonic smile on his handsome face. How had he aged so  _ gracefully? _ You bit your lip, closing your eyes shut to try and push the hurt back down, now not being the most appropriate time to deal with it.

Reaper placed a large hand on your chin and lifted up you face to look at him, running his thumb gently over your (damp) lower lip, before gently running it against your chin, the calloused skin somehow comforting.

“You love me, huh? I’m your one true  love?” he mumbled, his features softening at the hurt he could no doubt see you trying to hide. Your lower lip trembled, and it took monumental effort to will the tears away, as he gently placed his forehead on yours.

“Let me confide something to you,  _ cariño:  _ if I ever had the capacity to love anyone back, there honestly would never be anyone I’d love as deeply and as truly as I’d love you. Not even Jack, and I want you to know from the bottom of my heart that I’m  _ extremely  _ sorry that I’ll never love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

He kissed you on the forehead, then your nose, each cheek and finally on your lips. So soft, so sweet, so  _ genuine,  _ and you choked against his mouth as he gently pulled back, getting out of bed, no doubt preparing himself for the day.

“Go take a shower. Sombra has some good news to tell us.”

You took a deep breath, calling forth the last of your control before you sat up, a sharp but not unpleasant pain shooting from your hip area to the rest of your body. Even when he was gentle he was still thorough in the way he made love to you. It was disgustingly beautiful.

You got out of bed, huddling into the shower, just managing to get your shower cap over your dreadlocks before standing in the sharp splutter of the shower, when the proverbial dam broke, and you begun weeping quietly, as you went about cleaning yourself.

You thought you’d never have to confront these feelings in your life, thought that you’d get away with having them buried in the darkest recesses of your mind until the end of your days, but here you were, the tears never ending as you thought about everything you repressed for about two decades now. You weren’t even sure how to deal with it other than just cry, and that disappointed you even more.

As much you generally never got along very well with Morrison (he was such a poster boy it sickened you. He was literally the textbook, ideal white man. You couldn’t deny that despite his stereotypical features he was quite attractive, but you knew the second you met him that your blunt personality would grate him the wrong way), you weren’t above recognising that you were probably slightly jealous of him. He was very established, and despite the fact that you suspected he got to be Strike Commander more out of his looks than his qualifications (anyone with a brain knew that Gabe was more qualified that Jack), even you acknowledged that he was a pretty good fit for the job, and you made it very clear that the only reason you respected him was simply because Gabe and Ana asked you to.

However, the main reason for your jealousy was the fact that he had ever been in a relationship with Gabriel, and they were still pretty close. You didn’t know whether or not they still had sex with each other, even when they decided to end it post-promotion, and for your own sanity you decided it was better if you didn’t know. It really stung that the one man you were in love with was still probably being sexually satisfied by the one man you despised the most, and you remembered how you’d normally take that jealous rage out on targets in missions, or during practice at the base. You remembered the look he gave you when he realised behind that rage was envy and bitterness, and how he simply walked away because he really had nothing to tell you. You remembered when Ana would come into your room late at night, and how you’d sob on her shoulder for half an hour and babble how much it was all so unfair and you just wanted a chance and why was it so difficult for him  _ to give you a fucking chance to prove yourself to him.  _ You remembered saying how much you  _ despised  _ him, but when you’d see his amazing smile the next day you knew that you’d probably never love another man as deeply as you loved Gabriel Reyes.

You choked, sniffling in the shower, as the water hit your back as you went down memory lane. You remembered how every other woman that worked with him consistently had a crush on him and Jack. Honestly you couldn’t blame them. Ana was just about the only person you knew that had seen them pre-SEP that you were close to and she assured you that even then they were still reasonably very attractive men. The Soldier Enhancement Program just, well,  _ enhanced  _ it. A combination of good genes and luck had them looking like literal embodiments of Adonis walking around. In particular - and you snorted in contempt - you remembered how one Dr. Angela Zeigler had a massive crush on him. 

What irritated you the most was that she never even tried. She was, as everyone else in Overwatch, very good at her job and extremely professional, but whenever she had the chance she would blatantly flirt with him, and you were one hundred percent sure she  _ relished  _ in doing his physical examinations. You could always tell by those arrogant little smirks of hers and the bounce in her step whenever he came out of her office. You knew that she may have resented you because of how he held you in high regard, and with her he was at most, casual and playful, and the most informal he referred to her was “Doc”. You remembered how she once apparently nonchalantly asked you what you did to him to have him refer to you by your first name, and because you were one with the pettiness that day, you smiled sweetly at her and promptly told her that you had cultivated a friendship with him without making it too obvious that you wanted to fuck him, and the shadow that fell over her face probably added five years to your lifespan.

Naturally your relationship with her after that could only be described as stiffly professional. She always took it upon herself to try and make you look bad in his presence, and though being the older person you should have been able to ignore it, you didn’t. You returned her passive-aggressiveness with your own pettiness, and there were times that only Ana’s look of disapproval would have you catching yourself, making you go and apologise to her, something she tended to hold over you. In retrospect you shouldn’t have done it because it was immature, but hindsight is a true gift after all.

You breathed out, deciding that maybe you had been in the shower for too long. You stepped out, and set about the task of applying lotion and dressing up, and as you looked at yourself in the mirror, all you saw were dark circles under your eyes, which were red and swollen because you had done more crying this morning than you had in a while.

You smiled, your reflection showing you just how  _ melancholic _ you looked. You always knew, deep down for the longest time that Blackwatch was always going to Reaper’s (Gabe’s? You weren’t sure anymore) number one priority. That realisation hit you when you knew that he had broken off what seemed to be the ultimate relationship with Jack Morrison, who Ana told you at some point loved Gabriel very much and he was definitely heartbroken when Gabe told him that it wasn’t going to work out anymore. Blackwatch was always his first love, and despite that, you couldn’t help but love this man as deeply as you did. You remembered Ana warning you, telling you that you attached real hard, perhaps  _ too  _ hard, and that you should be careful, but honestly it was probably too late by then. You were already in too deep, and here you were.

Now even as Reaper, a mercenary with a terrorist organisation, you thought that maybe you could keep that part of your life hidden forever, that he was not the man you’d do anything for anymore but alas, they all came back, particulaly last night as he made love to you in that gentle but passionate way you knew he could. All the feelings came back and smacked you in the face, reminding you that even as Reaper, you were still hopelessly in love with him, because he was still the same man, and nothing would ever change that. You huffed a laugh, feeling your heart shatter once more, because your silly little twenty something heart really couldn’t help it. Even if things were different now, and Overwatch and Blackwatch were still up and running, you still would have fallen in love with the being that is now Reaper.

The fact that he knew, all those years ago, and that he still knows now probably makes you feel slightly better. The fact that he acknowledges and respects your feelings towards him, despite not being able to reciprocate them heals you a little bit, but the sting is still there.

You love him. You’ve always loved him, and you would probably always love him. There were many things you regretted doing in your life, but meeting and falling for this man definitely wasn’t one of them.

Who needs a whole heart anyway? That shit’s for sissies. You had heads to pop, because Sombra, Widowmaker and Reaper were waiting for you.

…

“About time,  _ señora.  _ We thought you’d died in there,” Sombra said, glancing at you as she stuffed her face with a forkful of baked beans. You rolled your eyes, going to the kitchen to get your own breakfast, making sure to thank the chef before you joined the rest of the squad in the dining room. You planned to suggest you guys go work out at the beach, because at the rate you were eating, it was definitely going to fuck up with your fitness.

“Honestly, Sombra,” you said, your voice muffled because of all the food in your mouth. You couldn’t help but internally snort at Widowmaker’s look of judging disapproval. “I wish I’d died in the shower, because I’m really hating this fucking mission. I just wanna get drunk and go visit my parents, but I’m stuck trying to bring down a human trafficking ring I brought down when you were five,”you mumbled, swallowing and stuffing more food in your mouth.

You noticed Reaper’s smile of amusement, and you appreciated that he realised that you were trying to cheer yourself up. He knew you very well, and you wagered he had an idea of the kind of emotional turmoil you were going through in the shower.

“Anyway, I got some...good news, I suppose, though I use the term good very loosely,” Sombra begun, minimising most of the holos in front of her until there was one left, which she maximised. 

In front of you all was a young man, most likely of mixed race heritage. His skin was a very light brown, with small beady eyes, a pointed nose and blood red mohawk. He had on a pink shirt and salmon trousers with leather boots, and he looked very weary.

“His name is Joseph Obote. He is from Uganda, and he is a descendant of one of that country's most infamous politicians in it’s very early years post independence back in the 1960s, a man named Milton Obote. He’s absolutely brilliant, going by his systems and how he operates them, but I think he is very greedy, a little bit like Zeigler, where he only cares about himself and his interests. He’s just a kid too, about twenty six years old, and going by his systems he seems to be self-taught for the most part.”

She scrolled further down, and that is when the fork promptly slipped from your hand and clattered onto you now nearly emptied plate. This guy had thoroughly done his research, and it seemed like the nightmares that were Abdi’s mess were resurfacing.

In front of you were some of the wealthiest and most powerful businessmen in the African, European, Asian continents and the Americas, both north and south. You had encountered most of them in your Blackwatch days, and about ninety eight percent of them were on the elimination list, but they have managed to live on due to the destruction of Overwatch. They were all vile and greedy people, enslaved by capitalism, and it was the betterment of the human race if they were eliminated.

And they were back to haunt you life.

“All these are the individuals that are involved with Khadija and her ring. I’m still digging, as these are just the guys with the money, and obviously for them to be able to be involved in something of this magnitude there have to be people with power backing them up. On the map on the left, the lines glowing red are the places where Khadija has already established her trade and the lines glowing blue are the places where she intends to expand. As you can see she was planning to consolidate herself in the East African region, before she moved to Europe, North and SOuth America and South and South-East Asia. She wants to expand her empire further than her father's, and going by the people she’s got behind her, it won’t be particularly difficult for her to do that.”

Finally, the last two pictures were of Jack Morrison and Angela Zeigler. Turmoil begun bubbling in your chest again, but you stamped on it before it got any worse.

“These two, however,” Sombra started, the tone of her voice suddenly turning very serious. “Are the important ones. They are the backbone of her ring, and only the higher ups know this. Without them, her ring is almost essentially useless as it will crumble then. I need to find specifics, but from what I’ve gotten so far, they are the ones that provided her with all the information and all the connections that enabled her to build back up from her father’s foundations so fast. Her only weakness is the exact same as Zeigler’s: greedy and entitled. She is an absolute brat, and she believes it was her destiny to be the biggest and most successful organised criminal alive. As a result she had absolutely no manners or respect for anyone, and the only one she has such powerful benefactors on her side is because of Morrison and Zeigler. We take them out, she crumbles.”

Reaper sighed. “Let’s get planning then.” He leaned in and was about to start delegating work again, before a familiar, obnoxious ring tone interrupted you.

“Not fucking like this,” you growled. It was gonna be a long bloody day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I donno where all this angst came from, but I promise you it's going to be integral to the plot. 
> 
> And the sex.
> 
> But mostly the plot.
> 
> Come curse me on [Tumblr](http://nutheadgee.tumblr.com/) for overwhelming you with angst. I have, in particular, a lot of feelings about Gabriel, Jack and Angela, and Talon as a whole really, so come drop me a line or 40 paragraphs.


	12. Things going from worse to shit.

You were contemplating if it would be worth it to throw that fucking phone into the ocean. You would lose all your contacts and a whole lot of information, but you had backed up the information on your online servers. Sombra, had however blocked access from your website, so going for the information route would be a little difficult. You however doubted if it could be an issue for her to open it just for a moment for you to get the information you needed if necessary, though, naturally, it would take time, something you didn’t have too much of.

Decisions, decisions.

“ _ Madame,  _ are you going to pick up your phone? That ringtone is very obnoxious,” Widowmaker asked, something that remotely resembled irritation on her face.

You actually were going to pick it up, but because you were petty, you decided to let it ring a few moments more before answering it, making sure to smile sweetly at her in the process. She was  _ definitely  _ irritated this time, but just like before it was gone within seconds, because she was not able to sustain emotion for very long periods of time.

It worked for you. You had invoked emotion in the infamous Widowmaker.

“Hello?” you asked, proud of yourself for not snapping.

“Maya, Ethel would like to have a word with you,” Ndolo said, passing over the phone before you could question why he wants Ethel to talk to you despite knowing what you were and who you associated with. You were a danger to her, especially considering she fell perfectly into Khadija’s perfect demographic for slaves.

“Hello?” Ethel asked, her voice sounding small but resolved over the phone. “I-I have decided that instead of going back to Kigali I’m going to stay and help you out as much as possible, if you need it. I’m going to do it for my friend’s memory. She didn’t lose her life for me to just run away like a coward. So if you’ll allow me, I’ll stay and help.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, honestly. You didn’t want to patronise her, and truth be told she probably had some very important insight to give you. She had been kidnapped and was on her way to being transported, yet she was the only one brave enough to jump over and try and get help. It was unfortunate she couldn’t manage to get help for her friend and the other young women who have either already been sold off or are still stacked in some warehouse somewhere, but she could be of some help.

On the other hand, you really didn’t want to involve her because she had gone through a traumatic event and getting her back into this would trigger very nasty emotional and mental memories. You should know, considering you’ve been through it. The only difference was, you knew exactly what you were getting into and you knew there was a high likelihood you’d get fucked up by it, so you made plans and sought help when it got too bad. You highly doubted Ethel understood this on a fundamental level. Watching the light die from someone’s eyes as their life force drained from them wasn’t something you’d want an individual in their early twenties to go through. You knew first hand because you’d gone through it yourself.

There was also the issue of what the rest of your squad though. Would they accept her or did they have the same reservations as you?

“Thank you for your offer Ethel. We’re coming there to talk about this in detail,” you responded calmly, looking from Reaper to Widowmaker to Sombra.

“Alright.” She hang up.

“Guys, we gotta talk.”

…

The consensus from everyone was not what you expected, though considering who they were, you  _ should  _ have objectively considered it. Both Reaper and Widowmaker were completely unmoved and indifferent by Ethel’s decision to help. They both promptly informed you - and they were right - that she was an adult and she had the right to make whatever decisions she wanted concerning her life. Who were they to tell her whether or not she could be of assistance?

Sombra was the one who was somewhat enthused, and it’s not like she was enthused but was willing to be worried for Ethel’s wellbeing. She just wanted more information because that would make her work gathering all the information about Khadija and her lot a lot more easier, and if Ethel was going to be a channel to that information so be it. That meant you were the one that was to see to her safety, or at the very least request Ndolo to do that for you.

You sighed. Reaper was right. You were getting attached, and you couldn’t afford to get attached here because this mission depended quite a bit on your rational decision making, and that just couldn’t happen if you formed attachments to people or things you weren’t supposed to form attachments to, which for all intents and purposes of this mission was everything. Luckily for you you had the rest of your team to snap you back into place and promptly remind of your priorities, and they took it upon themselves to do that every single time. Objectively it should have been a good thing but you quite weren’t sure whether they were doing it for the sake of the mission or if there was some pettiness involved.

Probably both, the fuckers.

Nonetheless, you found yourselves at Ndolo’s in about twenty minutes. You were the one that was driving, a duty you took upon and made very clear in the group because Sombra was still yet to sue her bloody driving school and Reaper wasn’t at risk of dying.

“Come on,  _ señora,”  _ Sombra had said when you glared blue murder at her and placed your hand in front of her, palm up, so that she could hand you the keys. “I’m not as bad as you think I am. Widow and Reaper don’t seem to have a problem with my driving.

“I’m middle-aged and at the highest risk of dying amongst all of us, so  _ I  _ have a problem with your driving. You almost drove us into the fucking ocean the last time none of us decided to consider the disadvantages of not assessing unnecessary risk in our lives.”

“ _ Amigo  _ is middle aged too.”

“Well, he’s literally immortal at this point. You and Widowmaker are younger than me, so you still have reactions and the thrill of adrenaline pumping through your systems. All I have is salt and cynicism, and that won’t help me when you decide to crash us into a trailer, three cars and two walls.”

“Stop acting like you’ve never had adrenaline adventures,  _ madame.” _

“‘Had’ is the key word here, Widowmaker. And yes I have. This guy,” you nodded towards Reaper. “Was my commander. If I tell you some of things he made us do you’d be scandalised.”

Both she and Reaper chuckled at your over dramatic antics, and even Widowmaker managed a small smile. She still gave you the keys, and for the first time in a long time, you felt relaxed, because way back before Overwatch utterly decimated what little innocence you had left, you remembered you enjoyed driving.

You always felt calm when you walked into Ndolo’s house. Kim always tried to make it as homely as possible.  When you arrived she had coconut water ready for you, her bright smile rivaling the sun. You pointedly stared at Reapers the moment he took his, non-verbally telling him that you wanted it because it wasn’t going to benefit him anyway considering his status, but he simply smirked at you (you swallowed. Would you ever some time for that one to one with yourself?) and promptly drinking every last drop of that coconut water just to spite you. You considered throwing a punch at his jaw, but you figured he’s probably see it coming and stop you anyway, and that irritated you even more than him being selfish with the goddamn coconut water.

She nonetheless welcomed you into the sitting room before she went over to bring Ethel. You took the opportunity to call Ndolo over and have a word with him about her.

“Hey. First of all I would like to really express my gratitude for hosting Ethel and taking care of all the other messes I’ve caused. Can I give you some remuneration for having her around? I intend to get all the information she apparently has today so that she can be on her way back home tomorrow at the very least. It’s very dangerous for her, particularly when those other people realise she’s somewhat affiliated with us, no matter how loosely. I can guarantee you Morrison is looking for her as we speak.”

Ndolo was looking at the ground, his face serious, twisting his Misbaha in his fingers as he listened to your quiet murmurs. 

“Who is Morrison?” he asked quietly, something in his tone telling you to be honest and tell him the truth.

“Morrison is the man that attacked me and the man that was transporting the other young ladies that Ethel managed to escape to Tanzania.”

At that he looked at you, saying everything he needed to say with his eyes. He wasn’t forcing you to tell him anything, as he trusted that you would tell him when you felt comfortable enough to, but there were some things that he probably needed to know in order for him to both help you and to protect this young woman that was suddenly thrust in his custody. You needed to help him help you in a way. 

You sighed and immediately switched to Swahili. Reaper probably wouldn’t approve, but you’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

“Jack Morrison, former Strike Commander of Overwatch. My ex boss. The guy always in black, Reaper, is actually Gabriel Reyes, former Commander of Overwatch and War Hero, also my ex boss.” 

Ndolo’s face was still neutral, but you could already hear the question coming.

“You’re an ex Overwatch agent.” It wasn’t a question. His voice was so flat and deadpan that it sounded like the dryest statement he’s ever said.

“Ex Blackwatch, actually, but yes. I was an agent for the better part of two decades.”

He smiled sarcastically, snorting. You couldn’t quite place what he wa feeling.

“What a time to be alive,” he mumbled in English, looking towards your team. You followed his gaze to see Widowmaker’s indifferent look, Sombra’s sympathetic look, and Reaper’s suspicious look. For the second time today you swallowed when you caught Reaper’s gaze, his red eyes narrowed at you. 

“I know,” you responded instead to Ndolo.

“I want one thousand US dollars in cash the second I ensure this kid is safe and sound back in Kigali. Make that one thousand five hundred, since the five hundred will appease my anxiety with having to be constantly look out for a super fucking soldier,” he promptly switched back to Swahili as he walked towards the couch, pouring himself a glass of water. Honestly, you though he needed something significantly stiffer than water, but he was a Muslim and therefore didn’t drink.

You found yourself smiling. “Done.”

“Otete,” Reaper snapped at you. Oh boy, you were definitely in trouble if you were in surname basis. “Get your ass here right now.”

You shuffled over to him and you were already talking before he even asked you what you had been telling Ndolo.

“I just told him who Morrison was, who you were and who I was.”

Reaper’s facial expression immediately changed from anger to incredulity. He stood up straight, raising his eyebrow at you.

“He honestly never knew who you were all this time? How long have you lived here again?”

You paused. Thinking for a bit. “Since Overwatch went boom, so that’s like six or so years now?”

“How long have you known this dude for?”

“Five and a half years.”

“And you never told him you were a Blackwatch sniper.”

“Well it wasn’t exactly relevant.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to release the pressure there. Widowmaker was shaking her head and Sombra was giggling behind her hand.

“Just...go talk to the girl. Fuck...how many times must I reiterate I’m too goddamn old for this shit?!”

“Well you’re not the only-”

“Shut the fuck up,  _ hija de puta  _ and just go.”

Snickering yourself because you were very juvenile, you saw yourself towards Ethel. She had an interesting expression on her face, something that was a cross between fear absolute hilarity. It’s like she couldn’t believe you were normal, everyday people who interacted normally like everyone else.

Well, almost normal everyday people. Reaper was dead and Widowmaker was in a state of constant brainwashing. Could be worse though.

“Hello Ethel,” you greeted her, with some enthusiasm in your voice. You thought it would make her less uneasy.

“Hi,” she responded, sounding slightly more chipper than she was when she spoke to you on the phone. An improvement.

“First of all, before you start, I’d like to make a few things clear. After you tell me whatever it is you want to tell me you have to go back home  _ immediately.  _ Ndolo will see to it that you get back to Kigali safely. The guys that kidnapped you aren’t exactly the nicest guys, obviously, but if I’m honest with you, neither are we. We are forehead deep involved in all of this shit, and the reason I don’t want you to get any more involved than you already are is that it’s not going to end up with you alive. So please, promise me that you’re going to home, get therapy for what you experienced here and go on with your life.”

For a moment, she just looked at you, her expression serious.

“I understand,” she said, nodding her head once.

“Okay then. Thank you. What’s up?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “They tended to know exactly where we were at what time, which I guess is how they managed to capture us so easily. I guess it also helps that the guy that was driving, the one that had grey hair and a visor and that massive gun was unnaturally strong and fast. Like absolutely nobody could fight him off, and he was carrying like two of us each on his shoulders. When we got there there was a lady, blonde, friendly looking who injected us with something, and though we were conscious we were too weak to do anything.”

Immediately your mind was racing. What kind of drug was Mercy injecting them with? Was it dangerous in the long-run? Perhaps Sombra needed to look into that.

“They were talking about taking us to a place called Vanga and then sterilise us before taking us to their boss. I don’t know where Vanga is, but I know when she said sterilise us she meant make us barren, so that we can never be pregnant. I never thought I’d be that terrified in my life,” she said quietly.

It was silent for a moment, before Reaper spoke up.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

You SOmbra and Widowmaker looked up at him, your facial expressions all saying the same thing.

“Commander, no.”

He ignored you. “Sombra, get the chopper. We’re off to wherever the fuck.”

“ _ Vanga,”  _ You growled.

“What’s wrong with Vanga?” Widowmaker asked.

“Everything, Widowmaker. Every fucking goddamn thing,” you responded. Nothing in any of the languages you were literate in could ever properly describe what was wrong with Vanga. It was one of those things where you’d have to go and experience them yourself.

What, in fact, was real life?


	13. Going in deep

You never thought you’d live to see the day to say Vanga had deteriorated, but here you were. Vanga was already pretty bad when you last visited, but it had gotten substantially,  _ substantially  _ worse.

“Well, looks like Vanga has gotten worse than when I was last here,” you muttered, more to yourself than your company.

You could tell that the people were clearly tired and that they had resigned themselves to their fates. Unlike Lamu and Malindi where people were actually curious about Widowmaker’s skin colour or Sombra’s hair or Reaper in all black, here no one even batted an eye. No one even looked in your general direction. Everyone looked so weary, so  _ defeated,  _ like there was some kind of yoke over them, and they felt like they had no choice but to bear it.

They were miserable and helpless, and as much as they probably despised it, they couldn’t rise against it; liberation wasn’t exactly a choice for them. They had tried a few times, and the failures were punished more brutally each time. You knew because you were here the last time they tried to be brave. There were significantly less bodies in the streets and less pools of blood or parts of human flesh and bones splattered about.

“Damn...I’ve been to some pretty melancholic places, but this one definitely takes the cake,” Reaper murmured, probably looking around from behind his shades.

“I suppose it’s story time,” you said, nudging them to follow you to the person who you’d be seeing, a contact of Ndolo’s. “Vanga is a stronghold of all the vile people you’ve ever heard of. I’m one hundred percent sure some of your Talon allies involved in arms dealing have some sort of warehouse here. Everything that’s either blood money or illegal in the southern hemisphere has probably passed through here, which is why I think Khadija, Morrison and Zeigler decided to have one of their major warehouses here, because they can do it in public and no one can tell them jack shit. This is probably where, as Ethel informed us, Zigler sterilised the young girls and young women before they are shipped off to be sexual slaves to some vile maggot. The government really doesn’t give a fuck, partly because they have been bribed through their nostrils and partly because this place is so far and so remote from everything and everyone that bothering to send resources here in any form is considered a waste.”

You turned to the left to see a young man being beaten up by a chief, probably because he couldn’t pay some payment demanded from the corrupt official. You could have intervened, but you actually had work to do, and you didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

“Every single asshole you see here that looks like they hold some sort of authority probably doesn’t live here, and they only commute here, on taxpayer’s money about once a month or so, just so that they can put it on their tax sheet. The bribery trickles down, kind of like how capitalism is supposed to. Khadija and her lot pay the big guys, the big guys consistently pay the little guys until we get to the ground, to continuously oppress and marginalise these people, literally beat the will to live out of them , until they are reduced to this, little more than slaves, forced to exist in this bitter cycle of poverty, disease and suffering. Even fishing for their own food is regulated, because they just might harvest more than they need to sell to the Tanzanians who are gonna cross the border. They are allowed no independence whatsoever from the state. This is their fate, they are to stay here and suffer for some greedy bureaucrat for the rest of their lives.”

You turned to see a young child, a little girl probably not a day above ten years old struggle with a pot of water on her head, probably for cooking and drinking. The water was filthy, and someone would probably be very sick in a couple of days from consuming it, but it was all they had, all they were allowed access to.

“They aren’t even allowed to leave here, neither them or their children. They and their descendants are stuck here for all their lives, repeating this vicious cycle of forever being servants to people they don’t know, people they despise, wondering what they ever did to deserve this.”

It was silent as you turned through an alley, walking towards the only structures in this hell hole that were actually made with brick and cement, old, crumbling and in desperate need of maintenance.

“Have none of them ever tried to rebel?” Sombra asked. You expected that question from her, considering her people had rebelled from the individual that was oppressing them.

“Yes they have,” you responded, finally getting to the entrance of the building. You sent a quick text to your contact to get down here as soon as possible. You saw Widowmaker wrinkle her nose a little bit, and you honestly couldn’t blame her. The place stank. “Three times, actually, and all three times the state unleashed the might of the military on them. They were slaughtered like mass chickens all three times, each time worse than the last. The only difference is that the military only came here to murder, since, as you can see, there really isn’t much to loot and plunder here. It gets very demoralising and  tiring when your own government is against you, so they pretty much gave up.”

Again, more silence as you all looked around you. The mood had gotten a lot more sombre after you had narrated exactly why this place was just all round terrible and gloomy.

“Now I see what you mean when you said that  nothing was really worse than this place,  _ madame,”  _ Widowmaker told you. You never responded to that, just waiting for the goddamn contact that Ndolo had connected you to

You immediately saw him, tall, very lean, but also very muscular. He was bald, with very sophisticated glasses on, a massive dagger on his left hip. You squinted, because it seemed like this guy was very familiar, and you nearly keeled over backwards when you saw who it was.

“Dr. Ahmed?!” You screeched, causing him to turn around and subconsciously throw a dagger in your general direction. You ducked, hearing it bounce get embedded into a tree, before he breathed a massive sigh of relief, and turned right back to you, his face slightly flushed, an almost imperceptible shade of red on his light skin.

“Miss Otete. What the fuck are you doing here?” He mumbled, looking from you, to Sombra to Widowmaker to Reaper, before he gasped and looked at you. Just at you. 

“Ditto, because if I’m not mistaken you’re supposed to be injecting heroin, cocaine and other such drugs in Rohan’s system, not running around in Vanga. How the fuck do you even know Ndolo?” You asked yourself.

“I was about three years behind him in high school.”

“Huh. Well, that’s not something I expected to hear. Does Rohan know that you come to give intel on warehouses of a reviving slave trade ring in a dilapidated town to contractual agents of international terrorist organisations in your free time?”

He looked at you and rolled his eyes. “No. And he doesn’t have to, because quite frankly that’s none of his fucking business. Don’t you dare tell him.” He seemed very blasé considering exactly who and what he was dealing with, which, considering who’s fucking medical GP he was, shouldn’t have been surprising. Either Rohan didn’t pay him well (very doubtful) or he just wanted more money and he though selling information to the highest bidder would get him more cash (most likely).

“You have our word,  _ cariño.  _ Nothing of what you say is leaving here.” Reaper’s voice was smooth, charming, like he was trying to  _ flirt. _

Abdi was a dark man, about Sombra’s skin tone, but even then you could  _ still  _ see how red he had become. He cleared his voice nervously, looking everywhere else but at your commander. If you rolled your eyes any more they’d probably fall right out of your skull.

“Very well, what exactly would you like to know? Ndolo told me that you’ll pay really well for my information.” His voice had a boyish quality to it now, quiet, but just as smooth, as opposed to the caustic edge it had before. Was he actually  _ flirting back?! _

“Well,  _ chava,  _ it depends on what you have to tell us. We hear that Khadija, Morrison and Zeigler have one of their larger warehouses around here. We’d just like to know exactly where it is, then we’re gonna send some people to come and see if they can cause some chaos for them, maybe destroy it. If you can give us exact coordinates then we can get rid of it in the next two weeks or so. Then we can arrange your monetary compensation after that.”

Reaper sounded like he was on a seduction mission. He wasn’t even addressing you but you could literally  _ hear  _ those full lips of his curve into that trademark sexy smirk. He wasn’t even talking to you and you felt that warm, masculine voice wash over you like high quality, Swiss, melted chocolate. He didn’t even have to try to get you dripping, and you hated him for it.

“Uh, well, it’s about three kilometres northwest from here. It’s massive, near the mangrove, and it’s a pretty big structure. By day it’s very quiet, but the evening is when most of the stuff happens. I hear that’s when the doctor comes round to sterilise all the young ladies in there, and normally they are transported out to Dar at about three am, so that they can pass the border at change time and they aren’t questioned.”

“When are Morrison and Zeigler normally around?” You asked, some bitterness leaking into your voice before Reaper scheduled an appointment for sex or some shit.

“Four times a week. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.”

Before anyone else could even open their mouths to respond, Reaper had already shifted in front of Abdi, something which surprised him slightly, but he didn’t have time to react, before Reaper took his chin into his hand and bent down to kiss him.

It didn’t last long, about seven or so seconds, but he broke off, still with that smirk on his face, whereas Abdi looked very surprised, and going by that blush he  _ still  _ had (how his face hadn’t quite melted off yet was beyond you) he didn’t look he objected at all. In fact he looked like he had thoroughly enjoyed it.

“Thank you,  _ querida.  _ Sombra will wire you your cash as soon as we get back home. I’ll personally see it it. I apologise I can only express my and my team’s thanks to you verbally. If we were in a better place I could arrange for something a bit more...memorable. However, maybe when you come up to where we’re based I can arrange something, hmm?” He murmured, his thumb gently moving on Abdi’s chin. Abdi himself could only just stare at Reaper, his hand gently placed on his shoulder, looking at him as if he was his salvation from all that was wrong in the world.

“Ugh, can we go now please?” You interrupted their moment, rather rudely if you may add, which was the entire point. “I really wanna get the fuck out of this hellhole.”

Suddenly everyone’s attention turned to you, and you kept your gaze on Reaper, your eyes narrowing at him at that mischievous twinkle in his crimson eyes.

“Are you jealous,  _ señora? _ ” Sombra asked, her voice more than a little bit scandalous.

“Of course not. What makes you think I’m jealous?” Your tone was  _ dripping  _ with jealousy and you were extremely sure you had a very jealous expression on your face, as you crossed your arms under your bust.

“Oh, nothing. Just enquiring,” the little shit responded, a small bounce in her step as she walked away. Even Widowmaker was smirking.

Not like fucking this.

…

“I’m amused,  _ chaparra. _ You were actually jealous that I made out with Abdi?”

“Can you please tell me at what point in the recent past I expressed a need to actually talk to you?” You internally winced at your tone because you were literally overflowing with jealousy.

“He’s a sexy dude, plus we needed the information. It works for all parties involved.”

“I honestly don’t remember asking for your analysis,  _ Commander.” _

“You’re so cute when you’re so jealous you can’t even sass properly.”

“If you honestly don’t shut the fuck up I am gonna shove both your motherfucking shotguns so far up your ass they’ll rearrange your non-functional intestines.”

He chuckled, the sound sending lust overflowing through your entire body. You hated both yourself and him so much because he had such an effect on you and you never knew how to deal with it. You literally had no control over how he made you feel, and that offended you immensely.

You had finally arrived back to civilisation in Malindi, and you remembered taking a deep breath and spreading your arms wide open to relish the breeze and fresh air because as much as it had been only a couple hours, you had truly missed it, with it here being clean air, sandy white beaches and clear ocean water. If time permitted maybe you could go for a swim.

You were all settled on the kitchen island in the villa that Talon had rented for you, as Sombra opened all her holos in front of you, and you didn’t like what you were seeing so far.

“As expected, Joseph is the main point of contact between Khadija, Morrison, Zeigler and all their major clients. All the information between them is passes through him before he passes it anyone else: a good strategy considering the kind of business they are in and the people involved, but the risk is once someone manages to get into the system, they know everything.”

The mood was pretty forlorn as Sombra flipped through her holos, showing you the people connected to Khadija, courtesy of Zeigler and Morrison. The president of the United States, the Prime Minister of Canada, the vice chancellor of Germany, the Vice President of Switzerland, the heir to the Belgian throne, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and the Minister of Finance of Singapore, meaning all the major financial centres of the world had some of her influence. Some of the leading heads of  _ chaebols  _ in South Korea and powerful connections through

_ Keiretsu  _ in Japan, almost entire governments in South America and Africa, including Colombia, Venezuela, Mexico. Brazil, Kenya, Tanzania, South Africa, Angola, Democratic Republic Of Congo, Equatorial Guinea, Senegal, Nigeria, Mauritania and Ghana, powerful business people in Australia who could influence public policy, and children of influential heads of State in South and Southeast Asia, including India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Malaysia, Hong Kong, Macau and Indonesia.

Of course, what would sexual slavery be without the Royal houses of Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Oman and Kuwait.

“All of these individual are customers of Khadija. They pay her very good money for the young women and young girls, some of them as young as eight, but the oldest is normally about 23. Her clients normally prefer virgins, which is why she focuses most of her efforts in rural areas, since they are most likely to be too busy conforming to societal expectations rather than enjoying their youth. They are taken to Vanga, sterilised before being treated of any and all ailments, before they are put on a thorough diet and thorough fitness regime which lasts about a year, with hormonal treatments, all of it obviously forceful and against these young women’s wills. After a year she has a patrons come and choose and pick which young woman they would like and they are taken to their new life to be a sexual slave. She has at least two harems in each major city of these countries. She only takes payment in US Dollars, Euro or Japanese Yen.”

She closed all the holos and zeroed in on the head of state of Equatorial Guinea.

“This, however, is the big guy in the equation,” she said, crossing her arms under her bust. “He is the one that has allowed her to stash all her money and assets in his country. She also has a residence here, where she spends about eight out of the twelve months of the year. If we need to take her down, I have a feeling we need to start from Equatorial Guinea.”

It was silent again.

“You all got tomorrow to goof off, call your families, eat, whatever the fuck you want,” Reaper said, before he turned to you. “Call your druggie friend. I’m sure he’s got a questionable individual to host us for a couple of days. I’ll talk to Emma. Mission bank balance is draining.”

He sighed. “I’m going to take it upon myself to kill this  _ puta.  _ Even her fucking father wasn’t this annoying.”

On the bright side, at least the past was catching up now as opposed to when you’d be older.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment? Please? I am literally /begging/ you. Talk to me.


	14. Reaper opens up

God you had missed sleep.

Reaper as the  _ de facto  _ leader had granted you all a day to laze about and do absolutely nothing constructive before you set off for Equatorial Guinea. You took the opportunity to sleep for as obnoxiously long as you could, and you woke up at one pm, a personal record you had beat and you were proud of. You walked to the kitchen when the cook was serving lunch, and boy did you pile your plate. After food you were probably gonna call Rohan. You hoped Emma had sent some money over because you needed somewhere to stay at Equatorial Guinea, and you needed to convince Rohan that you needed somewhere to crash for a couple of weeks and that you wouldn’t murder in cold blood whichever of his contacts would host you.

Of course there was the risk that they would have their asses hunted by Khadija, but as long as no one knew you were there, they should be fine. If they did...well, it was one of the risks of dealing with the dirty, seedy underworld. If this was someone one of the biggest drug lords in the southern hemisphere associated with, he/she/they probably had some involvement in the dirty, seedy underworld.

“Yo, Commander, I gotta talk to Rohan to look for somewhere to stay, unless you guys know someone of Talon’s that can host us,” you said a little later, after taking your dishes back to the kitchen and giving the cook your thanks.

He was standing on the balcony, looking out to the beautiful blue ocean. You followed his gaze. The water was sparkling, so clear and pretty, reflecting the sun. It was such a beautiful, rich blue colour. You started to get slightly nervous when he never reacted, just continued staring.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you. I’ll come back later,” you said quietly, turning around to walk off.

“No Maya. Please stay with me.”

You froze, your eyes widening in surprise. His voice, normally a smooth, confident baritone, even in it’s gravelly state was so small and quiet, so  _ vulnerable.  _ Reaper never normally sounded like this.

You never hesitated. You turned around, walking towards him and squeezing yourself between  him and the wall. He was so tall, towering over you when so close, but you placed your palms gently on those broad shoulders and tugged him down slightly, and he sat on the chair behind him, sinking into the cushions. You immediately climbed onto his lap, those muscular thighs feeling so good against your own, as your legs dangled over his, your toes barely brushing over the floor, and you immediately run your hands over his hair, your fingers almost getting lost in the thick, black locks, as you tugged his head slightly forward, pushing it into your chest, wrapping your arms around those massive shoulders, just embracing him. He immediately wrapped his powerful arms around you, holding you tight, as if someone starved and desperate for any form of human contact.

Reaper was always a man of very few words. He was very difficult to read, because he rarely said much, and he was extremely good at hiding his emotions from his body language. However, like most people who rarely spoke much, he tended to convey a lot through his action rather than words, particularly to people he trusted or people he held in high regard.

Jesse, Jack, Ana, You, Wilhem, Torbjorn, Genji…

And out of all of those, he only had you left, only you who could understand him, only you who he could be vulnerable around. Widowmaker was brainwashed and could literally almost feel no emotion, and Sombra had nefarious motives, so he couldn’t trust them. Reaper was ex-black ops, and trust was a big deal in black ops.

You should know. You were one of his operatives.

He sighed shakily, tightening his hold on you. You just calmly run your hands in his beautiful hair.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice nearly cracking. “Thank you for being here for me. I needed this.”

“You want to speak about something. It’s really bothering you,” you responded instead, feeling him sag against you. You knew that sag because you had experienced it before. It spoke of weariness that had lasted a very long time, probably decades in his case.

“I have a lot of things I need to tell you,  _ cariño.  _ I’m not sure if you wanna hear it all.” His voice was starting to get back to normal, though still shaky.

You pulled away from his embrace, holding his face in your hands, running your thumbs over his cheekbones delicately. You slight characteristic mist that rose from his skin now moved to around your fingers.  “You need to let it out,  _ mpenzi.  _ You’ve been holding it in for too long. Talk to me. I’ll listen to you.” You ran the back of your knuckles over his cheek.

What a  _ beautiful  _ man he was, even in his age, in his state.

“I - the ocean, it reminded me of Jack’s eyes. His eyes were so bright, always sparkling, so beautiful. God I loved them. I loved his eyes so much. Cliche as it sounds, I always got lost in them when he’d look at me. Even as he aged they never dulled or dimmed. Ever. They were just as bright and sparkling as the first day his eighteen year old ass joined the military, fresh from fuck off nowhere in bloody Indiana. He was such an innocent farm boy, going on and on about wanting to serve his country before going back to his parents’ farm. He was so sweet and innocent that I wanted nothing more that to corrupt him. I saw the way he checked me out, trying so hard to be subtle, when the second he walked into the room I could tell he was one of the gayest motherfuckers in L.A.,” he chuckled, the sound genuinely happy.

“Man, he did such a good job. I’m a military kid. I know at least three close relatives who were in the military in every generation. My mum and three of her sisters were, and holy shit did they kick ass, especially mine when I joined. Then I met goddamn Jack. That’s when we started our relationship. We were together for the better part of two and a half decades. Twenty five years, Maya, fifteen of them in secret. The sex was hotter than brimstone, the bonding tighter than any knot anyone one in any military has ever tied. We got along so well: emotionally, intellectually, sexually, we suffered through SEP together, endured Ana’s teasing together, I thought it would go on forever.”

As usual, his voice was calm and steady, never wavering or cracking. “Then Overwatch happened, Strike Commander position was up. I missed it, he got it. We all know why. Anyone with a functioning brain does. Institutional racism and white privilege are a trip. I got Blackwatch, and though Jack was extremely sorry and apologetic, I knew it wasn’t his fault. He was the first one in his family to get into the military, he didn’t understand how  _ ingrained  _ discrimination was. There’s the fact that he came from Indiana and probably only seen three black people and no other people of colour in his life, but that’s not quite the point I’m trying to make. I got Blackwatch, and he swore to do everything in his power to work it out. He was full of all these ideas that after a decade or some shit he could be able to step down and take my place, have us swap roles. He had good intentions, but Jackie didn’t get that’s not how it  _ worked.  _ Not military, and especially not racism, discrimination and privilege.”

You could hear the rage in his voice, and how he visibly struggled to contain it. His fists were clenched, his muscles tight, his eyes narrowed, voice lower, sharper. He was always scary when he was like this, but for some reason you weren’t intimidated, still sitting on his lap, your hands placed tentatively on his chest.

“ Interestingly enough, Jack was very receptive and inclusive. He tried to learn, tried to understand, tried to be a  _ hero,  _ but it never worked out, and slowly he started to get it. He started to understand how politics and the rich and powerful got in the way, how no matter how hard he tried there was always someone who would approve the wiring of some money and his decisions would be shut down with some bullshit excuse. By then it was too late. By the time HQ was blown up he was so disillusioned he just didn’t give a fuck anymore. Ana tried. Wilhelm, Torb, God knows they tried. I did too. We tried to talk to him, but he was  _ fed up.  _ I’m not going to lie: me ending our relationship probably contirbuted to him getting as fucked up as he was. He had been in the closet so long that when he realised in LA he could be as fucking gay as he wanted, he could thirst, he could talk about how attracted he was to other men, he could go have a great time at pride, he could have these open discussions about his sexuality and no one would judge or condemn him to God knows which fucking circle of hell, it was liberating for him. Then we started our relationship, and he fell. The boy fell so fucking hard I started contemplating how the fuck I’d pull him out. “

He took a deep breath. This was gonna be long.

“You know I don’t have the capacity to love, but what I know for a fact is that I felt an exceptionally strong sentiment for Jack. I knew this was a man I could take a bullet for, face the devil for, but with Blackwatch and Overwatch, it couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t work out, especially when you consider all the guys who were watching us all the time. We had to end it, but Jack was too invested, so I did. I ended it, and it broke my heart to see him so devastated. I’ll admit that it took a while for me to get over what we had, because it was easily the greatest relationship I was ever in. The sex still happened, a lot, and it was just as phenomenal as before, but it still wasn’t the same. Then  _ you  _ happened.”

“You were such a breathe of fresh air, ya know. You never gave a fuck, and I thought it was so sexy. You were outspoken, and you were one of the first people to call out assholes on their bullshit, kinda like a junior Ana. You reminded me so much of her, and the only things topping me seducing you was her. Fuck she terrified me. She terrified  every single person I know. She terrified fucking  _ Wilhelm.” _ He chuckled. “Wilhelm is a fucking seasoned military man and he was terrified half to death of a five foot six, petite sniper. I don’t know what it was, no one does, but she commanded some respect, and you knew she could fuck your shit up fifty ways from sunday if you pissed her off, especially when she smiled that sweet smile at you, you know the one, so I kept away. I fucked Jack, I jerked off, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted you so  _ bad _ .”

“Damn,  _ chava,  _ so much happened after Mauritania. That was some of the best sex I’d ever had in a while. You were just as delectable as I imagined you’d be, and I would have been down to do it again. Then I realised that you were falling in love with me, and you were falling in deep. As much as I adored, treasured and cherished you, I couldn’t. It was too risky. I could get past unscathed because I was Gabriel Reyes, I had too good of a portfolio for UN to get rid of me, but you were vulnerable, your status, your nationality, your sex, you couldn’t pass off easily, so I stayed away, I kept off, feeling the same sentiment I held for Jack grow, but pissed off and real disappointed that nothing would ever come of it. Ana confirmed it to me, told me that you knew that I knew, that you were insanely jealous of Jack, of what we had, of wanting to get with me, settle down, all the good shit, but I  _ couldn’t, dulzura,  _ and I hoped more than anything you’d understand. As expected, you did in your own way, and I admired you so much, going on with your life and still being exceptional at your job while dealing a heavy heart due to unrequited love. It must have been such a heavy burden for you, _ hermosa _ , but you ploughed on.”

It was his turn to touch you tenderly, his thumbs wiping the tears you didn’t even know you were crying from your cheeks.

“And now here we are, I died, Angela fucked me up, trying to bring me back to life. Jesus that was just another mess altogether, Angela. She fucked up. I was so angry, so disillusioned. I’d done so much for the fucking world and I ended up being branded a traitor. Even in death I  _ still  _ had to suffer from institutional racism and white privilege. Then Talon came round. They told me they could fix me up, help me stabilise my state, but in exchange I could be a sub-contractor of theirs, a mercenary that they could call whenever they had a job for me. It seemed good enough, so I took it, making it very clear that if they had any ulterior motives I’d crush their skulls with my bare hands. They knew this, and they kept their word, so I decided to chill out. The pay was good, and for the most part they stayed in their lane, while I went and popped off the assholes that did this to me, and destroyed everything I’d worked so hard to create. I got two, but there’s still three I need to deal with. Amelie remembered me, but by then Talon had literally reprogrammed her so much she didn’t even bother to pretend to give a fuck, which was fine with me. She loved her husband dearly, apparently. It was the main reason she unceremoniously shanking, to save him from both Overwatch and Talon. She’s weirdly self-aware, like she knows what has happened to her, and she knows I know some of the twisted shit Overwatch did, so I can’t chalk it up to the French being extra as much as I’d like to. Sombra is a cool kid, but she has some wild-ass ambitions and intense motives. I wish her all the best, because dude, I can’t. I’m too old. I’ve had more than enough of my fair share of international relations drama.”

“Now I’m here, Angela and Jack gone rogue, you unceremoniously flung back into my life, dealing with the ghosts of our pasts. What a time to be fucking alive.”

“Indeed,” you muttered, your voice cracking because of your crying, not even sure if you were agreeing with him.

“I spoke too much. I’m sorry,” he said, huffing a sardonic laugh.

You nodded. “Yeah, that was a lot to unpack. I mean, I knew some of it, but most of it is kinda of new to me. It’s just...I don’t know, after all of this, I mean. I knew this whole mission was just going to turn my life upside down, especially after I’d gotten some semblance of stability after everything, but it’s just...there’s so much to deal with and sort up, especially emotionally.”

You looked away, out at the beautiful, blue ocean. Blue and bright like Morrison’s eyes. You felt Reaper’s large hand on your chin, turning you around to face him. He leant forward, capturing your mouth with his, those full soft lips kissing yours, biting down slightly and asking you to open your mouth, deepening the kiss. You sighed, submitting to him.

He broke off when he heard you were having a bit of a problem breathing through your nose. You almost refused to let him go, moving forward with him until he detached himself from you.

“You’ll always be mine,  _ cariño,  _ and I’ll always be ready for you. Go talk to Roham. Negotiate a good rate. Emma wasn’t too happy when she wired the extra money I asked. There’s a lot of ass kicking we gotta go do.”

You blushed, wiggling of his thighs and headed to go talk to Rohan. Maybe exchanging barbs when he was doped up on whatever fucking shit Abdi  had given him would get your mind off how wet you were becoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst. This chapter didn't even fucking exist in my plan FFS. I just envisioned Reaper thinking about what he had with 76 back when they were still Gabriel and Jack and then my brain was like "mate, you haven't made people sad. It's time to harvest the angst" and here we are.
> 
> It's not as tragic before. I'm a merciful being, after all.
> 
> I still hope you enjoyed it. Come thirst with me on [tumblr](http://nutheadgee.tumblr.com/).


	15. Death Blossom

You were not a good person. You were very well aware of this fact: after all for the better part of about eighteen years you worked as a sniper for a semi-shadowy black orps organisation within an international “peaceful” task force, a kind of military arm for the United Nations. You had done some questionable things in your life, and you knew you were one of the last people to ever ask for mercy when you died by the sword as you had lived, so to speak.

However, the ominous information Rohan gave you (after you promised a hefty sum of money wired into one of his less dodgy accounts somewhere in Europe. The man was honestly planning to finish Talon, massive a goal as that is) and the look Reaper gave you after you relayed aforementioned ominous information had you wondering which ancestor(s) exactly you had royally pissed off in the recent past and what exactly they needed to appease them.

Talking to Rohan, for once, wasn’t quite the exercise in patience and self-control it normally was. He seemed to be in a relatively good mood, and the first five minutes of your phone call was him telling you in rapidfire Swahili the magic of coconut milk in his rice and his stews. You honestly wished you could tell him to shut the fuck up and give you the information you wanted, but you actually wanted to listen to this conversation (and promptly judge him for not cooking his vegetables and his rice with coconut cream in this day and age) because honestly that stuff was nothing short of magical. He was in a very rare good mood, and you sure on top of a direct deposit (other than Talon’s) depositing somewhere, something really good must have happened to him.

He nevertheless told you someone you could contact to host you for as long as you wanted, on condition that you would pay him. You agreed, not sure if you even had the finances, but you hoped you did. If not...well, that was bridge you’d cross when you got there. You were sending the name, address and other contacts to Sombra to ask  her to check it out, get in touch with this guy and send Rohan his cash (he never even negotiated. You just gave the smallest figure you thought he’d accept, really pushing your limits and he accepted without hesitation. This recent direct deposit must have been real good).

“Just so you know, Equatorial Guinea is a Khadija strong hold, so if you’re going there don’t be too surprised when you find the military there waiting for you. She knows y’all are onto her, and she’s going to do everything in her power to make sure you guys don’t succeed. She may not exactly know who you’re working for, but she doesn’t care. She thinks that’s something she deals with when she has to.”

He sighed at this point, and you could see him literally shaking his head. “Her hubris has really made her short sighted, but that’s none of my business. Anyway, just be careful, or whatever. The guy you’re hosting doesn’t want you dead before you pay him. God knows he’ll need the money to bribe people to shut the fuck up about him hosting you.”

When you relayed this information to the rest of the squad, there was a slight silence.

“How does she know that we’re gonna go to Equatorial Guinea? What if we intend to topple her from somewhere else?” Widowmaker asked.

More silence.

“We gotta assume she’s not an idiot. Obviously she knows we’re onto her, and I highly doubt she can access our system. She might not know specifics - or maybe she does, who knows - but she knows enough to realise that there will be a confrontation between us in the near future, and though she’s extremely arrogant, she’s obviously gonna take some steps and measures to counter us,” Reaper murmured as he swiped on the holo video in front of him, looking at the map of Malabo. “Any news on the guy that’s gonna host us,  _ amiga? _ ”

Sombra immediately started telling you about your contact, some dude named Pablo who lived in Malabo. He was Equatorial Guinean, and he owned an apartment block not too far out from the city centre in one of the more upper-middle class area. He had a helipad, and he said that for a “small fee” (small was being used very loosely here, but you doubted that was the point right now) he could organise you to land on his block, but you still had to pass through immigration at the airport.

Reaper growled. “Send him the cash. Tell him we’ll be travelling tomorrow, so he better be ready. We’re going in fully armed, so no bullshit at the airport. There must be someone he can bribe that can let us in. We leave here in six hours. Brace yourselves, ladies. Tomorrow is gonna be a trip.”

Really, which libations did your ancestors want?

…

“A trip” turned out to be the biggest understatement in this mission yet, and that was saying a lot, considering what you had gone through thus far.

Pablo, it turned out was extremely reliable, a lot more reliable than you expected. Objectively, this shouldn't have been surprising, but considering  the line of work you were in, where people’s lives were always at risk and loyalty was rarely rewarded, reliability really wasn’t something you had come to expect. Pablo, however, either really wanted money, or was legitimately a good person, another rarity in this line of work.

He was able to get in touch with you, and inform you that the head of state was well aware that you would be arriving, and he had stationed police all over to try and refuse you from entering the country. He had definitely been tipped off by Khadija, but then, the question becomes, who had tipped Khadija off? You had all been very careful and Sombra had all your servers with your information on complete lockdown.

That was something to figure out later though. For now, you had to focus on getting out of the airport in one piece.

“There’s someone who has information on us that sold us out. There’s no way the president of Equatorial Guinea can know the exact day and time we’ll be touching down into his country and have police stationed there to stop us,” you said, as you added bullets into your rifle.

No one said anything, but you knew exactly what that silence communicated. You heard both Reaper and Sombra cock their guns.

The plan was for you and Widowmaker to snipe out as many of the cops as you could before you landed. You had stopped at Gabon to swap your jet for a helicopter, because you all had that familiar feeling of needing to defend yourselves before touching down, and it was relatively difficult to do that through a jumbo jet. WHen you touched down then you’d probably have to fight your way through immigration as you got cleared before getting back on the chopper and leaving, landing somewhere outside the capital and then getting a car and driving into your place of residence. It was a very sketchy plan, but quite frankly, there was really nothing else you could do at this point. You didn’t have the time to sneak into the country.

There however, seemed to be one small problem: there were no policemen, or any other form of authority, outside the airport grounds.

“There is no one outside,” Widowmaker muttered, her eyes no doubt narrowed behind her fancy vidor. You had no visor, but your eyesight was still pretty good, and you were inclined to agree.

“Widowmaker, tell the pilot to land outside the airport, and tell him to tell the dude to come out. There’s been a  change of plans,” Reaper snarled, staring down at the airport space. Widowmaker relayed the information in French to the pilot, who immediately changed the direction he was flying, as he barked some words into his communications channel. For a moment, you saw no change on the ground below you, but you knew better.

Realistically, it should have been just a couple of minutes, but the series of events that took place the second the chopper hit the ground onwards might as well have been hours.The immigration agent that had been paid to sign you into the country (and hopefully out of it) had just handed you back your respective passports (all fake, you could tell the moment you felt the flimsy document in your hands), you felt a certain chill pass through your body, and you suddenly became alert. There was a slight pause, as if time itself had stopped, before the pandemonium begun.

Reaper just managed to throw her into the chopper when it was taking off, together with the rest of your luggage, before moving in and popping some poor cop’s skull. You, at this point, had managed to snipe off two cops, and you assumed Sombra and Widowmaker had eliminated some people as well. It was chaos from there, and being a sniper you realised that the police almost always tried to either come to you first or Widowmaker.

They forgot you were a sniper, and you could eliminate them as they ran towards you, trying to get slightly closer to shoot at you. It didn’t help their case that Reaper’s shotgun and Sombra’s sub-machine gun were literally tearing them to shreds as they realised the fatal mistakes they were making as they run away.

Despite that, they continued coming at you, using their numbers to overpower you. When usually, not a very good strategy, it seemed to be working. As much as it was easier to snipe them now, you not even needing to look through your scope, there was the off chance that you would be shot as you were busy trying to shoot someone else.

RIght on cue, a bullet whizzed right past you, probably centimetres from your ear. You swore, before ducking behind a car, still fidgeting with your rifle and wondering how the fuck you’d shoot someone before they’d blow your brains out first.

As you were still trying to come up with some kind of strategy, you noticed that the police had suddenly stopped attacking. In fact they were retreating, and as much you’d have liked to believe that that was a good thing, you knew better.

“They’re retreating. Something else is about to happen,” Sombra muttered crouching next to you. “We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

She was right, but where exactly were you gonna go? You had all split up during the pandemonium. None of you knew where Reaper and Widowmaker had gone, though you knew they were tough and they would survive.

“Let’s go. We can get an open space and you can try and communicate with them and find some kind of rendezvous point, whether it’s to them or to us,” you muttered, beginning to move out. 

Except you didn’t get very far.

“Oh boy,” you muttered, looking around.

“Tell me,  _ señora,  _ are all your heads of state this - “ she waved her hands in the air in a vague gesture, “- this dramatic?” Sombra asked you, looking around at the multiple military personnel around you, most of them aiming a variety of firearms at you.

“For the most part, yes,” you replied. “But the particular head of state of this goddamn country goes above and beyond to be extra.”

“I can quite tell.”

The man, the head of state, the  _ president of this country  _ had actually exercised his powers as the commander-in-chief and called on the military to come and subdue you. You, were four individuals who were in his country hell-bent on destroying one of his strongest allies and he decided to sent the military against you.

Granted you were two extremely skilled snipers, an undead super soldier and a brilliant hacker, but you thought it was a bit too much. Just a bit.

“This is not gonna end well.”

“No, it’s really not.”

Well then, this was a mess. You were surrounded. There was nowhere to run or hide. You were in a somewhat open space, surrounded by military people. Suddenly, you heard a loud bang, and the person that you assumed was the leader just collapsed onto the ground, his head blown the fuck off, his guns falling off his hands as he fell down.

You and Sombra were out of there in the blink of an eye, taking advantage of the confusion, because both of you  _ knew  _ how their head had randomly gotten his head literally blown off his shoulders. There was a loud, panicked snarl, probably of some instructions, before your vision started becoming less and less clear. At first you thought it was just you and you blinked, but then you realised it was the environment that was being covered by a relatively thick, black fog. You felt panic begin to eat at you but you forced yourself to calm down and keep running.

“It’s Reaper,” Sombra said, glancing back at you as you ran. “He wants to finish this in one shot.”

“How though?” you gasped. Your age was coming through. Thankfully, Sombra stopped and turned back around. For a moment you were leaning on your knees, panting desperately and trying to regulate your breathing.

“I think it’s better when you see for yourself.”

You stood up straight, and you were very surprised your eyes hadn’t popped out of your skull yet. The black mist was coming from the middle, and it was spreading out quickly, swirling around him at it spread out further and further. It made vision unclear and murky, but not completely opaque. Suddenly, there were bullets coming from  _ all over,  _ and you saw a figure that looked suspiciously like Reaper, spinning around in a circle. The army that had been sent to try and contain you were dropping like flies, because not only were they panicking, shooting at random because they couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening, neither could they figure out where any of you were.

Just as he had begun, he stopped, the mist clearing up, and everyone around him dead or dying. He turned around, accounting for Widowmaker, nodding vaguely somewhere above you, before he turned his gaze to you and Sombra, and you swallowed, half in arousal, and half in absolute terror. 

He still had his mask on, but you could see the crimson of his eyes, something you had  _ never  _ seen before. Suddenly, he started walking towards you, and you were in so much shock you could barely move. His left arm was lifted up, and he was aiming his shotgun right at your head. You stood shaking on the spot, licking your lips nervously, not understanding what was happening, but having a hunch that this wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot.

Behind your head, you felt it, the hard barrel of a gun behind your head. To your side you saw Sombra, pointing her sub a little behind you, probably to the guy that was pointing his gun at you

“Take another step and I’ll kill her,” the person screamed in heavily accented English. Reaper stopped walking, but was still pointing the massive barrel of his shotgun at you. You couldn’t quite tell whether he was staring at you or at the guy who was threatening to kill you.

“Duck,” and immediately you dropped to the ground, before you heard a loud bang, then something fell on you, and something splattered on you, probably blood, as you felt it flow over you, probably from his beck after it had been blown off.  This whole series of events took place in about two seconds. You squeaked slightly, before you saw perfectly manicured long nails stretched out, the universal gesture of a helping hand, and you took it, your own hand shaking and Sombra helped you up, as you struggled to stand on shaky legs.

“Let’s go. Chopper’s waiting for us,” Reaper said as he led the way. 

Damn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for taking longer than normal to update. I'm visiting a couple of friends of mine interstate and we're too busy memeing and I barely have time to update. I hope you enjoy it though.


	16. You truly love this man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so thirsty, so I thought it would be appropriate to express that verbally in this chapter. It's a lot more than usual, but I seriously enjoyed writing this, so y'all better enjoy it too, thirsty savages.
> 
> Don't send help.

You woke up with a start, your instinctive military training kicking in allowing you to keep your mouth shut until you were sure you had a somewhat decent evaluation of the place. The room was dark, but you were warm, comfortable. Your legs were tangled with another set, stronger and more powerful than yours, and when you tried to shift there was a large arm around you, and you also suddenly realised that there was a very familiar, broad, muscular chest in front of you, a thin but continuous dark mist rising from it.

The sheets and pillow cases you were sleeping on was the same luxurious cotton as those in your own bed, but these ones smelt distinctly of leather and sandalwood, a subtle scent that sent floods down your panties.

You blinked, twice, when you saw how your hand was resting comfortably on a pectoral, and when you tried to steady yourself, your hand slid downwards and you gasped quietly, before swallowing at the feel of the hard muscle on Reaper’s abdomen.

You highly doubted there was any man currently alive that was as perfectly built as Reaper was. Granted he was a super soldier and he was undead, so perhaps there was a slight advantage he had over normal men, but even then, even in his prime, you still doubted that there was a man (or woman) with a body as perfect as his. He was nothing but lean, defined muscle, ideal in every all way. You were no doctor, but you knew enough to realise just how fucking physically fit he was.

You weren’t as young as you once were, and despite the fact that you still kept your old diet and still heavily worked out and still maintained peak physical and mental fitness (you were a sniper after all. A sniper that wasn’t at peak fitness of all forms was not a very good sniper) you still couldn’t quite keep up with the younger ones for too long.

Reaper, however, was an entire different story. Not only were you sure that he could keep up with the younger ones, but you were one hundred percent sure he could whoop all their asses about thirty ways from Sunday.

You shifted a little, trying to get out of his grip and sneak back into your room, but your movement spurred him to shift as well, tightening his grip around you, breathing out loudly and pulling you closer to his body. You risked a glance upwards to his handsome face, and he looked like he was frowning, but his features slowly begun smoothing over.

Okay so sneaking out really wasn’t going to work out. You looked down at yourself, noticing that you had your own large sleeping shirt on, one that you’d stolen from your brother, rising really high up your thighs. You swallowed again, your hand accidentally brushing the waistband of Reapers pyjama pants, hanging so low on his hips you were sure you brushed on body hair that most definitely didn’t constitute his snail trail. The temptation to dip them down into his pants and caress his cock was so strong, that you immediately pulled your hand away. His body heat alone was making you not think straight. The thought that his cock was that hot too, and hard, long and thick…

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to not think of all the much more fun ways you could wake him up, because you had a lot of questions, like how did you get into his bed, for example, and did you shower first, because it was gonna be really embarrassing if you were sleeping with one of the sexiest men alive’s (or dead’s in this case) bed, draped all over him without having taken a shower and covered in blood, sweat and dirt.

You sighed. “Reaper?” you said quietly, gently shaking him awake. He shifted again slightly, his thighs against yours, and you almost moaned, biting your tongue to stop the sound from coming out. He grunted, before his eyes fluttered open, the piercing crimson staring blearily at you.

“ _ Dulzura,”  _ he muttered, his voice more hoarse than its normal gravelly quality. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “Um, no, I mean, I’m fine. I just, I’ve got some questions,” you responded, dropping your gaze.

“Go on.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything after we left that field where you slaughtered all those military men. Can you please just tell me what happened?”

He sat up, prompting you do the same, internally disappointed in the loss of body heat you were sharing. He sighed, running his hands through his hair, which, you suddenly noticed, he seemed to have shaved. He sat cross-legged on the bed, facing you, whereas you bent your legs beneath you, the underside of your legs on your shins.

“You seemed to be in shock, because you were acting very weird, very mechanically. It was difficult to converse with you, and you just did your routine stuff when you got home. It’s like your body as telling your mind what to do. You got home, showered, ate and went to bed. I waited for you to sleep before I carried you into my room because I didn’t know if you were going to be okay being alone and I didn't want to risk anything.”

You chewed on your lower lip as you listened to him. This wasn’t the first time this was happening, and just like the one previous time it happened, you were never aware and it took someone else that was working you to ensure that you never did anything too ridiculous. Maybe you needed to schedule an appointment with your shrink again. It had been a while since you had been to Mombasa anyway, and it would give you an excuse to go back to Nairobi to hang out with your family.

After this mission though, meaning, that was gonna take a while.

Nonetheless, you decided to embrace him because he still cared, despite everything. Many times you had made some dumbass mistakes that had negatively impacted everyone, but he was here ready to help you through it. The least you could do was thank him, and since at the moment your mind had forgotten exactly what speech was and how it worked, physical manifestations of affection would have to do.

You buried your face in his shoulder to hide your smile at how surprised he was the moment you lunged on him, wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering a quiet thank you in his ear. Reaper was never particularly affectionate, even when he was still Gabriel, so it always took him a minute to get his bearing back on track whenever someone physically showed affection to him. However, when he finally reciprocated, wrapping his own arms around you to return your embrace, you felt a warm fuzziness all over your body. You truly wished you could stay like this forever.

He slowly pulled you off him, and before you could open your mouth to say something, he’d already captured your mouth, devouring it in an intense kiss you'd never had anticipated or been ready for. For a moment your eyes widened, in contrast to his half-lidded ones, and you couldn’t help but run your hands down his body, mewling at the feel of his muscles shifting beneath his skin. He’d pulled you onto his lap, his large hands going under your sleeping shirt, his touch searing on your bare skin. You audibly gasped into his mouth when he run his thumb over one of your nipples, and you promptly responded by running your nails over his back, and he growled low in his chest.

So he had enjoyed that.

He was tugging your shirt up, so you lifted your hands over your head, allowing him to remove it without any issues, before he buried his face in your neck again, kissing and nipping and biting, as he ran his hands over your body, reaching down to take your panties off and throw them somewhere else behind him. You moaned in ecstasy, lust beginning to cloud your mind, your hands gripping his arms as he pulled your panties down, dipping his long, thick fingers in between your folds, feeling how wet you were. He had barely even done anything and you felt as though your thighs were on fire.

You pushed yourself further into his body, bucking your hips into his fingers, running one hand through his hair as the other one struggled to pull his pants down. His fingers that weren’t thrusting in and out of you reached for your wrist, removing your hand  from his waistband and putting it onto his shoulder, which you gripped like a lifeline when he bent his fingers in your pussy and dragged them against your walls.

You threw your head back, your eyes suddenly popping open as you gasped his name in a loud whine, at this point not caring if anyone else heard you. He chuckled in your ear, the sound warm, masculine and mischievous, and that sound washed over you like honey, arousing you even more. At this point you were sure your fluids had reached his wrist.

“Do me a favour, _ cariño,”  _ he murmured in your ear, his voice having gone back to it’s low, gravelly nature, albeit slightly huskier due to his lust. “Let me taste you.”

“Yes,” you breathed in response. “Of course.” Honestly he would have asked you to let him murder all your enemies and you would have mindlessly agreed to it.

“I really wonder,  _ Maya,  _ if you were always this much of a fucking whore for me or if this is something you have developed with age,” he continued, something of a growl noticeable in his voice. You shuddered, trying to think of a retort, but your brain was drawing a blank at this most inopportune time. Thank you brain. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already dripping wet for me. Was Ana really aware how much of a fucking little slut you were, particularly for  _ me _ ? What about your parents, hmm? Don’t you have a kid brother who looks up to you? You have an example to set, yet here you, constantly willing to take my dick, more than ready to let me split you into two, fuck you into submission like the nasty, little  _ puta  _ you truly are. Isn’t that what you want, you filthy, little tramp?”

God how you wanted to snap back, but the combination of his words and his hands all over your body made you only manage a sob. You’d have been embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on.

He slowly pushed you down, until you were lying with your back on his bed, as he descended down your body, kissing his way over your neck, your chest, stopping by to take one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling them around with his tongue before pulling them in between his lips - your back arched up slightly at the feel of his tongue over it, while his hand that wasn’t holding you down roughly grabbed your other boob -  before he continued, down your stomach, spreading your legs open and promptly burying his face into your coochie. Your hands immediately grabbed his hair, thankful that he hadn’t shaved bald like he used, leaving just enough for you to hold on to.

You felt as though you were floating through time now. His hands, rough and calloused on your thighs, holding you down and he dove in, his tongue splitting your folds apart as he licked and suckeled on them, alternating between them and your clit, pulling them in between his lips and sucking gently on it, before moving back down, running the flat part of his tongue over your folds, top to bottom. He gently moved with you, as you bucked your hips into his face, encouraging what you felt. He was eating you out like you’d eat an ice cream cone, firm, but gentle. Where did he  _ learn  _ how to eat pussy like this?! He wasn’t even using his fingers, since his hands were constantly exploring your thighs, then your bum, where he’d grab a handful and squeeze, making your back literally arch off the bed, so overwhelmed with pleasure you could barely produce any sound. 

Your thighs were trembling, and you felt as though you were imploding from the inside. You knew your body was giving out on you, and completely unable to warn him or yourself, you came, shaking and trembling in his face, wondering how you still hadn’t suffocated him with the number of times you’d shoved yourself into his face. He never stopped, holding your down still, and lapping you through your orgasm, only stopping when you did. He gently let go. Moving over you as you still panted and tried to regulate your breathing, before he kissed you again, and you whimpered still at tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Go to sleep,  _ hermosa.  _ We’ve got a long day tomorrow,” he whispered, pulling you back into his arms. You saw no issue with that, and though sore, you turned around and curled yourself next to him, falling asleep.

…

You had woken up significantly earlier than you should have again, but when you looked out it was sunrise, going by the orange outline on the horizon. You were still in Reaper’s room, in his  _ bed,  _ and you blushed when you remembered what happened the last time you were both awake. He was sleeping on his back, and you on your side, one of his arms on his stomach as his other one was casually wrapped around you. His chest was slowly rising up and down, and e still seemed to be half asleep. You smiled gently looking at him, so at peace when he was like this.

You glanced down at his pants, noticing the bulge there, and your smile turned into a devious smirk. He said it was going to be a long day, so might as well wake him up with some...bliss, so to speak.

You managed to get his arm off of you, and you slowly slipped under the blankets, making sure that it was just at his hips, enough for you to be able to breath. You managed to go between his legs without waking him up, which just informed you just how deeply he was sleeping.

Or maybe he was pretending.

You fiddled with his pants, opening up the button and the zip, pulling down his boxers to get to his dick. It sprung out, thick and hard, with a little bit of pre-cum on the tip. You wet your lips, readying yourself to take him all him. You’d probably get jaw lock after this, but it was more than worth it in your opinion.

You risked looking up at him. He was still asleep, though for a moment he seemed to take a deep breath, and you paused, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t wake up. This was supposed to be a surprise, but his breathing immediately regulated itself, and he was back to normal. You bit your lip, in both nerves and excitement.

You grabbed the base of his cock, moving your hand up a little bit to use your thumb to smear the pre-cum that seemed to be leaking out a lot more on his tip and you heard him groan ever so slightly. Preparing yourself, you passed your tongue over his tip, under his frenulum and he hissed in his sleep, shuffling slightly on the bed, but otherwise still (seemingly) asleep. You were enjoying this, eliciting all these sounds and responses from him. It felt good to hold all this power over the infamous Reaper. You could do this for a while.

You kissed your way down his shaft, then passing your tongue all over him, until you saw his hips almost jerking upwards, and his hands reached out for your dreadlocks, and he grabbed them in a slight grip.  You decided it was time to finally give him the release he so craved, since it was almost time to wake up anyway. You opened your mouth and closed your lips over his tip, and he groaned so deeply his entire body reverberated with it. You slowly took more of him in your mouth, and his hips then literally jerked into you, no doubt of their own violation.

He grunted, and you risked a glance upwards, to find he was awake now, his half-lidded gaze staring down at you, biting his lip. Blushing, you acquiesced to his control, allowing him to tug your head gently upward, requesting you to move without hurting you. Your heart warmed at the gesture, and when you next sunk onto his cock you took him even deeper, feeling his tip at the back of your throat. He was so large, so thick, that your mouth hadn’t even reached your hand at his base. You set a rhythm and pace, bobbing your head faster on him. His growls  got louder and faster, eventually graduating into gasps, his hips moving in rhythm with your head, effectively fucking your mouth. You brushed your hands over his balls, feeling them tighten and you knew he was going to reach his breaking point soon.

“Dear God,” he groaned, throwing his head back onto the pillow in ecstasy. “I’m going to-“ he gagged and you knew it was coming (excuse the pun). You twisted your hand at his base in rhythm with the movement of his head, and it wasn’t long before you felt his dick twitch on your tongue, and a moan, he came, long, low and deep, as he spilled himself down your throat, his hips twitching under you the whole time.

Just like he did before, you let go of his dick and moved up, capturing his mouth in another deep kiss, and you felt the low growl deep in his chest at tasting himself on your tongue. How the tables had turned.

“Get up,  _ mpenzi.  _ We got shit to do,” you said as you slid off him and got off the bed, promptly heading to your own room to shower and get ready for the day.

That was hella fun.


	17. Khadija: a true psychopath II

You ignored the looks that Sombra and Widowmaker were giving you as you sipped your tea, boiled the Kenyan way (two and a half parts of milk to every one part water, the chef told you his variation) and made with fresh ginger. You remembered Widowmaker almost grimacing and Sombra and Reaper watching the liquid gold flowing from the thermos into your cup almost curiously.

“Aren’t you gonna add some sugar?” Sombra asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Trying to cut down on sugar in my diet.”

“Then replacing it with dick?”

You chose to not dignify that comment with a response, and you knew she was relishing in her pettiness as she sniggered childishly, setting up her holos. She was such a little shit. You loved her for it, if you were being perfectly honest with yourself.

“You seemed to have very much enjoyed yourself at some point during the night,  _ madame,”  _ Widowmaker stated in her usual bored tone.

“What can I say?I’m a simple woman who’s got needs.”

Reaper finally appeared, shifting in front of you all before Widowmaker could respond. “I don’t think we woke up this early to discuss Maya’s sex life. We got a job to do here, and we need to finish it before we dip, because after all the mayhem yesterday I doubt the president of this country is particularly pleased with us, or our presence in his land. Sombra, what you got for us?”

Right back to business, it seemed.

“Well,  _ amigo,  _ you are very right. Everyone with power in this country hates us,” Sombra said, pulling up multiple holos, mostly in Spanish since it was the major administrative language, but there were some too in French and Portuguese. You had no idea what any of them said since you spoke none of the languages in the country, but just going by the pictures shown and the large text, you could tell that none of them were showing any positive connotations. You saw Reaper and Sombra skim the articles for the most part, snorting and sniggering on occasion at some parts, translating some of the more exaggerated parts. Media in this country was heavily controlled by the government, and going by what you were hearing from your colleagues, the main point of these articles was to spread fear (not surprising, considering who the president was) and to report anyone that looked remotely like any of you.

It was at this point that you started questioning why these guys were as extra as they were, because there was no way,  _ no way in hell  _ any of you could pretend to be subtle. You sighed.

“Khadija, in particular, is not happy at all. In fact it’s safe to say she’s extremely pissed. She’s so mad, that she’s actually on her way here, because she can’t believe that apparently one person decimated hundreds of well-trained and highly feared military personnel. She has really gone out of her way to ensure the president used the press to fear monger as much as he can. She apparently has plans to meet us, because she doesn’t believe in you, doesn’t believe that you’re real,” she concluded, smirking at him.

You sniggered slightly when she wiggled her eyes at Reaper, who rolled his own eyes at her behaviour and making you snort, effectively ugly laughing at his expense. Even Widowmaker managed a smirk of amusement, because you all knew how utterly  _ vain  _ Reaper was, and for someone to come out and say they didn’t quite believe in his existence would be slightly offensive to him, despite his occupation as an assassin.

Back to being serious, however, you couldn’t quite blame Khadija for not believing that Reaper existed. He was not someone you could quite expect, and it was extremely difficult to have to describe him physically to anyone else, particularly in such a hot and humid climate like that of Equatorial Guinea. This was not the kind of place you would be wearing all black, with a hood no less. You’d sweat yourself to dehydration, not to mention the fact that he had crimson eyes and could turn into a mist, shooting bullets in all conceivable directions, guaranteeing his hitting you unless you were behind cover. You could almost feel sorry for the poor individual that had reported this to either her or her ally. You could almost bet that they were dead.

“There’s something you’re not quite telling us,” Reaper stated, his voice flat. The mood in the room suddenly turned serious, and you could see Sombra’s fabulous nails fly all over her keyboard, a habit, you had come to learn, that she shows when she’s extremely nervous.

“Yes, actually,” she said carefully, stopping her typing. She spared a quick glance at him, trying to gauge his mood. As usual, he was almost impossible to read, even for you. She continued. “You remember how Khadija and her allies always seemed to know where we’d be and have an idea of why we would be there? Well, that’s because there’s a traitor who was telling her everything.”

“A traitor?” Widowmaker asked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

Sombra paused for a moment. “Well, traitor isn’t the correct word. More of-”

She seemed to be deep in thought, as if looking for a word but really couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Can you describe the meaning of the word?” You asked her.

“Yes. Someone who is working for one side but also the enemy’s side, but secretly for the enemy’s side.”

“Double agent,” Reaper said, causing her face to brighten as she looked up at him, nodding vigorously.

“Yes. That’s it. A double agent. We were able to figure it out and find out who the double agent that betrayed us to Khadija was.”

There was a slight pause. “Pray tell, Sombra, who exactly is ‘we’?” you asked slowly.

“It was a Abdi,” a voice from behind you stated, matter-of-fact, as you, Reaper and Widowmaker immediately turned, aiming your respective weapons at her head. Her eyes widened slightly, before they got back to normal and she raised her arms in the universal sign of surrender.

“My name is Tani, and I’m your hostess,” she said, looking between all of you and deciding that Reaper is your leader. She, however, chose to address you. “I would really appreciate it if you stopped pointing your weapons at me so that I can tell you more about Abdi. the earlier you get rid of him the better for all of us, including Rohan.”

She had a strong voice, of slightly lower timber, and it commanded you give her your attention and your respect. Hesitantly, you were the first one to lower your rifle, before the others followed suit. She invited you all to sit down, and she pulled up multiple holos, all of them with Abdi on them, but they also had him with many other individuals who were most definitely not on your side.

“Oh boy,” you muttered, looking at all these images as Tani swiped past them, probably in the hundreds.

“‘Oh boy’ is very right, Ms. Otete,” she said, swiping back to the beginning. “As you should be aware, Abdi is an information hawker: he gathers and sells information to the highest bidder. He is fully employed by Rohan, and I know for a fact that he’s paid very well, but Rohan, like Khadija, is greedy. Very much so, because he literally sold you people out for a couple of thousand dollars. He did this knowing how risky it was, and since Rohan is the one that recommended you to me, he has obviously interacted with you before. I think he was either extremely overconfident in his secrecy or he really did underestimate your intelligence. Either way, greed did its job of overriding all sense of critical thinking and now you’re probably going to kill him for it.”

Reaper sighed, and you felt your blood freeze in your veins. You thought it was just you, but when you saw Widowmaker and Sombra look at you, the same apprehension visible on their faces, you knew it wasn’t just you.

See, that sigh wasn’t a sigh of resignation or fear, it was one of irritation, of  _ inconvenience.  _ Reaper was very done with all this bullshit, when all he wanted was to just get rid of his bitch and go on with his life looking for and promptly getting rid of the people the destroyed Overwatch, but there was always some mess or other - a mess that he never caused or never had a hand in causing because he was too tactical for this kind of nonsense - that he had to find some way to clean up.

And you remembered, very vividly, that Gabriel Reyes  _ hated  _ cleaning up messes. You doubted that had changed with his transition into Reaper. After all, Gabe and Reaper were the same person, fundamentally.

“Do you have any actual evidence of him meeting with Khadija in the past? It doesn’t necessarily have to be the specific one about us.”

His voice was dry, flat, as if he was bored out of his eyeballs. You swallowed. Rest in Peace Abdi.

Tani, at this point also slightly apprehensive because she had sensed this was not a man you’d want to get on the wrong side of, nodded slowly, before showing you a picture of the two of them, heads huddled together in between a literal mini guard.

Reaper turned to you. “Go talk to your buddy. Pray he’s sober. I need a squad to go eliminate that rat, meaning I have to call that goddamn old weed again. I need a fucking stiff drink after this.”

What, in fact, was real life?

…

“The fuck do you want? D’you know what time it is over here?”

He was in a bad mood. Unfortunately, you were about to make it far worse, because you weren’t in a very good mood yourself.

At least he wasn’t intoxicated. For once the Fates were with you. You could appreciate that.

“Shut the fuck up, junkie and listen to me. You’re in potential trouble. Whether or not you choose to believe me is up to you, but you have a potential traitor in your midst. I don’t know if he’s betrayed you, but he’s betrayed me and my squad over here, so I’m just telling you to be careful. Get rid of him, and then weed through your line of command and get rid of anyone that’s on his side.”

That seemed to get his attention. He sat up straight, focusing on you.

“Abdi is a traitor. When we arrived at Equatorial Guinea the entire fucking army was there waiting for us. Not very many people knew we were going there, fewer still the exact time of our arrival. Your connection here, Tani, the very lovely lady that’s hosting us has shown us galleries upon galleries of pictures with your beloved doctor, talking to all of the most disgusting human beings currently alive and in power, many of them your clients. Did you know he’s an information broker? Surprise, my friend. Not only that, but his greed apparently knows no bounds, up there with Zeigler’s probably. He is the only one we know that knew what time we would be arriving here that interacts consistently with our buddy the slave trader. So riddle me this, Rohan, if it’s gonna take just a couple of thousand dollars - significantly less than you pay him to mix up and inject you with your drugs - for him to sell us out, how much information could your competitors and your rivals and your enemies know about you?”

Rohan said nothing, simply staring at you through the holo. He looked positively infuriated, but you were a sniper, and just under a decade and a half ago you were taught how to read subtle body language of individuals. It was in the clenching of his teeth, in the tightness of his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, you could see the grief of someone who was undergoing a betrayal, especially one that was unexpected.

Just as this one.

“Maya, let me ask you a question,” he enquired quietly, voice steady. “Why do you feel the need to tell me this?”

You shrugged, forwarding to him the bank details and the amount of money Reaper expected in the account you were using for the purpose of this mission. It was a slightly lower amount than you thought he would ask for.

“You helped us out when we needed the help, when you could have kicked us out. Wouldn’t hurt too much to return the favour now, would it?” You were surprised at how  blasé you felt, honestly, and that reflected in the tone of your voice.

“Thank you.” It was very quiet, and you didn’t have to listen too hard to hear the raw emotion, the pure hurt in it.  You nodded once, actually feeling sorry for him before he disconnected the call. He needed a moment, and then after that, there would be hell to pay in Mangapwani.

Welp.

…

You were walking back towards the sitting room of Tani’s house where you were before, and you saw her sitting outside, a face of utter exasperation on her face. You were honestly scared to ask.

For a moment you just stared at each other, before she shook her head and sighed, not at all believing what she had just experienced.

“Are they always like this? So dramatic and just looking to deliberately instigate people into bad decisions?”

You laughed. You had honestly never heard someone sound so  _ done.  _  “Yes. They are a terrible influence on each other and, in turn, on the people around them.”

“Do they really understand the concept of restraint?”

“They do, yes. They choose not to practice it because it would probably make their lives boring.”

“How are they still  _ alive?!” _

You smirked. “They are  _ exceptional  _ at their jobs.”

For a moment, all Tani did was stare at you, but then you saw the realisation dawn on her face. “Don’t forget, that the four of us together were able to take out a good number of highly trained and armed military personnel. With proper preparation, they can decimate an entire army if they wanted.”

“He sent ten thousand men -  _ ten thousand men - _ against you!”

“I rest my case.”

…

Honestly you wanted to scream. You wanted to yell. You wanted to remove your sniper rifle and pop every one of their heads off their shoulders. You wanted to do very many things, all of which were illegal, but you didn’t because if it came down to it, only they would do something like this. Only they would look death and destruction in the face and  _ challenge  _ it, for the sole reason that they were  _ petty.  _

Reaper was seating on the island, smirking and sipping an alcoholic mixture that looked like it would knock another normal mortal out, staring at the large holo behind you, crimson eyes twinkling. Sombra was playing a strategy game on a holo, giggling manically when she’s mess around with the game and watch it still try to carry out its instructions. Widowmaker was watching Sombra with something that vaguely resembled amusement in her face.

On the major holo, however is what should have had you nearly flailing backwards in shock. Insead all it did was made you sigh.

“Good evening. You must be Khadija. Such a pleasure to meet you,” you said drily.

“There is more of you?!” She screeched. You swore you saw some spittle.

“Don’t worry, it’s only four of us,” you responded.

“I’ll find you and I’ll kill you and then I’ll continue my father’s legacy,” she hissed in Swahili, prompting you to turn around and translate for everyone else.

“All the best, homie. I don’t advise it though.”

“Ugh,” she screamed, before promptly hanging up. Really, what did you do to deserve this?

“She can’t find us. She’s good, but I don’t think she’s that good,” you muttered, going to sit next to Reaper, your cheek on your hand.

“Wanna bet?” There was something  _ sultry  _ in his voice, and everything in your mind warned you not to fall for the bait.

“What do I get if I win?” You hated that he knew you too well and he knew you’d never say no to a challenge.

Especially one that had your pride on the line.

“If you win, I’m yours for a night,” he said casually, sipping his drink. “And vice versa, of course.”

His gaze seared you, reaching to the very depths of your soul, the implications of his words very clear.

“I don’t think you wanna take this bet,  _ señora _ .”

“I agree,  _ madame _ . The odds don’t seem too good for you.”

“Done,” you said, staring back in those crimson eyes, shaking his hand firmly.

You clenched. What was real life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Badonkadonk in the next chapter. You see all this porn I'm giving you? Y'all better give me validation in the comments.


	18. The meet and the bet.

This was honestly ridiculous. You had all evolved to a level of juvenility you never thought you’d get to, and considering you’re ex-Blackwatch, that statement said  _ a lot  _ about this current situation that you were in. 

To think it had been somewhat of a peaceful morning too.

Blackwatch had, simultaneously some of the most childish and competent individuals you ever had to work, live and interact with on a daily basis. You remembered days where silly things happened like underwear disappearing or clothes being deliberately shrunk or giving people wrong coffee orders would cause operatives to sprint after each other across the entirety of the Overwatch base into the mountains and back into base and insulting people in a variety of languages, preferably those that the person being insulted didn’t understand, and running to Ana yelling “MUUUUUUUUUUUUUM” because one person had drained the battery of someone else’s gadget or other.

As much as those were some amazing times, they tended to be annoying for anyone not participating in the madness the longer they went on. This is where you had reached. Two exceptional and accomplished snipers, arguably the best hacker currently alive and a super soldier and war hero had been reduced to such immaturity.

Tani lived in one of the more affluent neighbourhoods of Malabo, so the unit had a balcony that faced the main road but was about five hundred metres from it. Interestingly, Khadija managed to find you like she so promised. She was with Joseph and you couldn’t see any trace of Abdi. for a moment you wondered if Rohan had already eliminated him, before you saw Joseph looking bashfully at Khadija, as if he was embarrassed at his boss, who was waving frantically at you, her facial expression showing pure rage as her mouth moved. You thought she was trying to tell you something, but because of distance, you obviously couldn’t hear her.

Reaper, smirking to the unholy circles of hell, turned to Tani, who was still going through the shock of seeing all this unfold before her, trying to get Sombra to calm down form her cackling (she had literally doubled over, her arm on her stomach as she supported herself against the wall she was laughing that hard) and Widowmaker, using her binoculars (where the  _ fuck _ had she even gotten binoculars from?!) to spot and narrate to Khadija’s expressions and actions to Sombra) and asked her if she had a bullhorn. Tani just stared at him, blinking. She had reached peak disbelief, you were sure.

“I...why do you want a bullhorn?” she asked, more than a little exasperated.

“To ask if she can yell a little louder because obviously none of us can hear whatever the fuck she’s screaming about.”

She stared some more, still blinking.

“Are you quite sane?”

“Most likely not. Who do I have to bribe to get a bullhorn around here?”

Tani opened her mouth, before closing it again. “I...I’m...I must apologise, but I don’t have a bullhorn.” Had she, perhaps, resigned herself to her fate? You couldn’t blame her.

Reaper turned to you, shrugging. “Guess we’re gonna have to go over and talk to her then.” He was still smirking, which sent shivers of both trepidation and arousal up and down your spine. 

Oh boy.

“Define ‘we’,” you asked carefully, already knowing the answer.

Knowing very well you understood what he meant, he never even gave you a chance. He immediately lifted you, effortlessly as if you were lighter than a feather (which was slightly offensive because you  _ did  _ have some muscle bulk to you, thank you very much) carrying you in his arms, one of them supporting you on your lower back and the other under your knees, forcing you to wrap up your arms around his neck to balance properly, and promptly shifted toward Khadija and her squad. His scent overwhelmed you again, that subtle leather and sandalwood that was so masculine and so sexy you almost always got wet at any memory of it.

You had honestly never seen people’s facial expressions move from shock to terror that quickly. They honestly looked like they had seen an extraterrestrial being, or something out of a nightmarish, horror movie or book. You honestly couldn’t blame them. You too, were rather shocked at you ex-boss’s appearance, though, evidently not as shocked as these guys were. You chalked that up to being in Blackwatch.

You spared a glance at him, and you could tell he was pretty close from actually laughing out loud, the asshole. He generally loved doing this, utterly terrifying people with what he was. He seemed to have accepted and embraced it, but obviously the rest of the human race hadn’t. It honestly did take some getting used to. It’s not every day that you met an undead man whose body was literally being held together by nanites.

You finally got to them, and Reaper gently put you down, his own legs materialising. Everyone was still staring, probably drooling.

Khadija was a  _ stunning  _ woman. Her skin was dark - darker than even you - smooth and flawless, not a single, mark, blemish or flaw on it. You could see in her height and her skin tone her South Sudanese heritage from her mother’s side, and the piercing almond shaped eyes and long, flowing hair from her Arab heritage, also from her mother’s side. She was dressed in the finest silks and  _ kangas,  _ most likely from her home town in beautiful and vibrant colours.

She could not have been a day over thirty five.

She was a woman who commanded respect and attention, and going by the spitting determination on her face she was going to get it, whether the world was ready or not. This was a woman on a mission, and she was going to mock God and the Devil themselves on her quest to achieve and succeed in it.

“Are you actually real?” Joseph breathed, reaching out to touch Reaper before pulling his hand back again. You snorted.

“Anyway, there’s a reason we’re all gathered here, I presume?” you asked, getting back to the matter at hand.

Reaper chuckled, making you spare a glance at him. There went those sharper than normal canines again. Honestly if your brother (or any other family member of yours, for that matter) knew you were sexualy attracted to an actual undead man they’d kink shame you for the rest of your days.

“Of course,  _ cariño.  _ Khadija wanted to see us, to see if we really did exist, confirm that, indeed, four individuals could decimate ten thousand men, all of whom were highly trained military personnel of one of the wealthiest countries in Africa.”

There was a sudden silence, followed by a quick seriousness on everyone’s faces, falling over them like a dark cloud on an overcast day. Oh dear.

“It’s extremely interesting,  _ pequeño  _ how similar you are to your father. The way you think, the way you plan, the methodical and logical way you go about your business. You didn’t just wake up one morning and decided that you were going to make your father’s empire flourish to what it once was, perhaps even make it more profitable. This was something you realised earlier on in life - whether or not it was before I got rid of him, I’m still not sure - and decided this would be the perfect career path for you: high-end crime. You had the traits, the capital and the connections to carry it on after all.”

His voice, still maintaining that brusque and gravelly quality was somehow simultaneously smooth, confident, and you realised this was Reaper in full force. Naturally he had thoroughly done his research and had his facts ready to confront Khadija.

“I can also see a striking equivalence to your mother, who you ruthlessly murdered in cold blood. The same tenacity, the same determination and bloody-mindedness, the undeniable sex appeal that you can turn and use a weapon to your advantage,” he paused here, running his eyes up and down her form, and you smirked yourself at seeing her struggle to contain her blush. “These are all very good traits to have when dealing with the questionable characters of the seedy underworld and egotistical men in power. You also inherited most of her negative traits: the arrogance, careless disregard of advice, impulsiveness, lack of proper fact-checking and these, more than anything will be the cause of your downfall, which will be as swift and ruthless as your rise.”

He turned around, walking away, raising his hand in a mock salute-greeting at her.

“Another thing, next time you decide to ally yourself with one of the more heinous and corrupt heads of state, at least make sure he doesn’t use the manuals, training and concepts developed by Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison to train his armed forces. We still know the tactics we used during the Omnic Crisis, despite it being quite a while ago.”

You looked at her one last time before following Gabe on the walk back to the house, and you were very surprised that her eyeballs hadn’t fallen out of her skull due to how wide they’d become.

You sighed. Why was he so extra?

…

You got back to the house, to find everyone sitting in the kitchen, relaxing as if their lives weren’t at risk. You just stared around at all of them, even Tani seemed to have been lulled into a sense of comfort. She had probably given up on you, accepted the fact that all of you were the furthest from normal and she just had to roll with you.

“Ah, you’re back,” Sombra said, turning around to look at you both. “Just in time too, because I have some good news to share from Emma.”

Really, everything was happening so fast. Before you could even open your mouth to ask what now, Reaper beat you to it. The only issue is, he didn’t say what either of you was expecting.

“Let it wait. I have a won bet to fulfill.”

You froze. You had forgotten about that fucking bet.

“At least we don’t get to do any work till tomorrow then. Maybe I should go for a walk. Wanna come, Amélie , Tani?” Sombra was suddenly off the couch, getting to the door so fast you didn’t have time to vocalise your objections.

“Oi, no, guys, wait just one second. We gotta do work. Get the fuck back here, oh my God!” The door slammed closed, and you heard the three of them sprint down the stairs. You swallowed. Oh boy.

…

The second you got into his room he never gave you a fucking chance. He had thrown you onto his bed and he followed soon after himself, his mouth devouring yours and his hands in your pants. Your arms were already around those broad shoulders of his, before one of them moved down to his chest, kissing him back with all the strength you could muster. You mewled in his mouth when he ran his index finger up and down your folds, making sure to pass over your clit (you shivered in pleasure) before dipping it in, quickly followed by his middle finger. You let go of his mouth, throwing your head backwards and moaning his name, pushing your hips into his hand and grinding against his pal. He chuckled in your neck, which wasn’t making things any better for you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, slowly moving his fingers in and out of you, curling them up and dragging them against your walls. You whimpered, whining against his shoulder, wondering how he was the only man that couldn’t even bother putting in effort to pleasure you so and your body would still  _ sing  _ for him.

“You’re so beautiful like this,  _ hermosa, _ ” he whispered in your ear, peppering your neck with kisses, his fingers still deep in your cunt. “You respond so well to my touch, your body works to every command of mine, so exquisite in how you submit to me.”

Your thighs started shaking, and your body felt like it was going to implode from the inside out. God you wanted to hold on for slightly longer. Not yet, not  _ now. _

“Fuck,” you whined, clenching your teeth and preparing yourself for your orgasm to hit you, before just like that, he stopped, pulling his fingers out and letting go of you, smirking as you unceremoniously fell back onto his bed, cruelly denied your orgasm.

For a second all you do was glare at him, but you recovered soon enough. “What the  _ fuck  _ Gabriel! That was so fucking rude. How  _ dare  _ you?! Is this really what you meant when you said I’d be yours for the night? Man, I’d rather just go and jerk off myself then.” You paused to shake your head. “You’re such a piece of shit, you know that? I can’t believe I’m...wait, waiiiit, what is, what are you up to?”

You noticed his nanites moving around you, and when you looked down you saw he hadn’t destabilised, one leg on the ground and the other bent at the knee on the bed. Suddenly it all clicked, and when you finally realised (well, or thought you realised anyway. With Reaper, you were never really sure) his intentions you were very surprised that your face hadn’t melted off.

“Strip,” he said, and you noticed his voice had changed, lower, rougher huskier and as you slowly stood up, your hands trembling as you slowly took your clothes off, you prayed to every single deity that was listening to give you the strength to be able to function by the end of this. You felt a weird sense of deja vu.

“Come,” he said and you did, getting on the bed and crawling towards him. He was kneeling on it, and he turned you around, your back against his front, before wrapping both his hands around you and pulling you towards him, his face buried back in your neck, lightly kissing with the occasional bite down. You had even forgotten that he had denied your orgasm before, and you almost came on the spot when his canines bit hard enough to sting. One of your hands immediately flew to his phenomenal hair, the other one over his around your stomach.

Simultaneously, you felt his nanites around you, slowly solidifying and becoming more opaque, and he tested them on your skin. You giggled at first, because the tough was so subtle, only slightly heavier than a brush, it tickled at first, before your skin got accustomed to the touch and he pressed a bit harder with them. They were warm and very smooth, almost like silk. You actually liked the feel of them against you.

“Open up your legs for me,  _ dulzura,”  _ he said, and you obeyed, immediately pulling your thighs apart. It wasn’t long before you felt that silky touch in your inner thighs, and your eyes widened.

“Gabriel,” you gasped, but his thumb was rubbing gently on your skin, his kisses light and gentle against your skin. 

“Relax, baby. Trust me.”

You did, for some reason. (True love, you’d come to later realise). You relaxed for him. “Pass me the lube though, please. It’s in my bedside drawer.”

You leaned forward to open it, and in there was peach flavoured lube, edible, apparently. You giggled. Reaper didn’t seem like the kinda dude to buy fucking peach lube, but here you were. You passed it to him, over your shoulder, before you went back to leaning against him, more than enjoying his body heat, as you felt that silky touch play with your folds again. You nearly choked, not quite expecting it but enjoying it nonetheless. They went further and deeper inside you, and you felt like he had his cock up there, filling you so completely that you begun seeing white spots at the sides of your eyes. You could literally feel your falls stretching and expanding to try and accommodate him, and it felt nothing short of  _ marvellous. _

As you were busy being distracted, you felt him slip two fingers, wet with the lube between the cleft of your bum. You gasped, when you felt his fingers slide up your bumbole.  “You like that? That feel good?” he asked gently in your ear. Speech had managed to escape you again, and your tongue had decided it was going to be one with the roof of your mouth, so instead you nodded frantically, because dear Lord it felt _ good _ .

He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching you for him for a few more seconds, before pulling them out. “This will hurt a tiny bit at first, but I promise to try and make it as painless for you as I can,” he murmured, his thumbs massaging your hips gently again. “I just want you to relax for me, okay?”

You nodded, swallowing half in excitement and half in nerves.

All this time, his nanites had never stopped wiggling inside you, working themselves in and out of you, against your walls, like his dick would.

Slowly, he slid in, inch by inch, until he’d filled you to the hilt. “Holy fuck you’re tight. You feel so good, so, so fucking good,” he gasped in your shoulder as he slowly pulled out again, before slipping back in, moaning so low it might as well have been a growl. The sound was so lewd, you had never heard him sound like that. His lips on your neck were trembling, and so were his thighs. Just how overwhelmed with pleasure was he?

“I’d forgotten how much I loved this,” he murdered, a very slight shake in his voice as he ever so gently thrust in and out of you. The sting he mentioned was gone, and with the combination of his nanites in your cunt and his cock in your bum, the pleasure begun. White spots clouded your entire line of sight as you threw your head back on one of his broad shoulders, gasping. You felt lightheaded, so affected by the pleasure, that it took a minute to realise that you were soon going to cum. You were clenching on him, too doped up on the pleasure to communicate the release you knew was soon to be given to you. Reaper’s deep, lazy thrusts weren’t helping, but he could tell by your body language. He slipped his hand in front of you, circling your clit in lazy twists as well, simultaneously with his thrusts.

“Gabe,” you managed, moving with him, feeling the orgasm coming, the pressure he applied on your clit increasing.

“Yes, lose yourself around me,” he growled in your ear, and with final thrust you choked, too overwhelmed to scream as you came around him, gasping and panting the only actions your body could manage. Reaper followed soon after, spilling his seed up your ass, holding you as you felt him shake and twitch behind you. He slowly pulled his cock out of your bum, and suddenly you couldn’t feel his nanites anymore. 

“Can we sleep now please? I think I need as much rest as I can for my old bones and muscles to be somewhat functional. I’m not a super soldier.”

Reaper laughed, actually laughed, loud and deep. “Yes,  _ chava.  _ Yes we can sleep.”

You could honestly get used to this.


	19. Final Confronation

This was most definitely  _ not  _ how you were expecting your day to begin. At least Reaper hadn’t murdered someone yet.

“I truly apologise,” Tank kept saying, her eyes moving between you, Reaper, Reaper’s shotguns and the poor gentleman that had walked in on you and Reaper, booty-ass naked on the bed, draped all over each other making out and giggling at his nanites as they tickled you. “I should have cancelled the cleaners coming round this week. I should also have informed you. It was very obviously my mistake. Please don’t murder them man. He’s just doing his job.”

You had been enjoying and indulging in each other, just living for the moment because you both knew that this was going to be all over soon, when you heard the handle of the door opening. Before you could even move, Reaper had already thrown the sheet over your nude form and he, not in the least embarrassed, shy or self-conscious about his nakedness sat cross-legged on the bed, massive arms crossed over his broad chest, crimson eyes narrowed, glaring at whoever had the  _ fucking audacity  _ to think they could walk in on him in this ungodly hour of the goddamn morning.

The door opened and in walked a youngish looking man, probably in his late twenties, pushing in a hoover, a basket with all manner of dust clothes, another basket full of cleaning agents, and one of those fluffy things that removed dust from high places. He obviously wasn’t looking in front of him, so when he’d managed to bring everything in and he looked up, obviously not expecting to be bombarded by a naked man sitting cross-legged on a bed glaring at him, so he did what any normal person would do, which was screaming his vocal cords out.

Naturally, everyone in the house - who knew exactly why the poor block was screeching, the demons - came round, pretending to be wondering what exactly was going on, and Tani cautiously walked in, reassuring the man rapid fire Portuguese that he was fine and he could just go back and she would talk to the company to pay him regardless and no he wasn’t going to be murdered and his body dumped in a nearby forest and left to decompose there.

“Get the fuck out. All of you,” Reaper snarled, and everyone, including Sombra who was pretending like she wasn’t seeing everything that was happening from the corner of the eye just outside Reaper’s bedroom door, scrambled the hell out, closing the door behind them. You scrabled to him, flimsy sheet still wrapped around your very nude form, and rubbed his back, trying to sooth him, still fascinated by the translucent, black steam rising from his body.

“Let’s go take a shower. That should calm you down,” you said, dropping the sheet and getting off the bed and offering your hand. He looked up at you, smiling slowly before taking it and pulling you into his body, peppering your cheeks with kisses. You dissolved into a fit of giggles again, before he carried you into the shower.

You truly wished this moment would last forever, but alas, it was not to be.

…

“Okay so now that none of us are mashing genitals with each other I think it’s time we got back to work?” The little shit said, maximising and minimising all the necessary holos to brief you of everything that had been going on so far. You rolled your eyes as you sipped your smoothie, and you noticed the corner of her lip twitching slightly.

“I got an email from Rohan yesterday,” she said, voice getting serious. The holo in front of you had Rohan, his face red, mouth nearly frothing as he held a traditional Zanzibari scimitar, dripping with blood. At his feet was a body, decapitated, the head and neck blurred, a small pool of blood next to where the neck was. “He killed Abdi for betraying us, though I highly doubt he did it for us. He says he’s still investigating if there’s anyone else that was working with him, but I suppose everyone under him knows exactly what will happen with them if they even think of interacting with his enemies.”

“Tragic,” Reaper said nonchalantly, not in the least interested in how Rohan chose to execute traitors in his inner circles. You internally agreed with him though. Abdi was a great source of information, but actions had consequences, particularly in the seedy underworld.

“I also got an email from Emma. She said based on the information we got from him last time we met she has sent three strike teams to take down those warehouses. Zeigler and Morrison won’t be there, so that should make things a lot easier for the teams. They are to destroy everything of value and if possible, blow the warehouses down.” She pulled up images of maps and images of aforementioned warehouses and their locations.

“They’re pretty remote and far out from everywhere else, so it really wouldn’t put anyone else at risk, and it would probably destroy a good chunk of Khadija’s resources. As we speak they are probably already there or on their way there, and she instructed them to inform us immediately they are done there, so that we can go and confront Khadija.”

“Where are Morrison and Zeigler?” Widowmaker asked as Sombra minimised all her holos.

“I don’t know,” she responded. “I’ve tried searching for them everywhere, even tried getting into Joseph’s network to see if he’s communicated with them in the recent past, but I came up blank. I could have gotten into Khadija’s phone, but we really didn’t have the time. If we’re going to get rid of these guys, it’s going to be today. She already has contingency plans for getting rid of us and getting the fuck out of here.”

She was right. If we didn’t finish this today then we’d probably be lead on another wild-ass goose chase, and you were way too old and way too tired of this bullshit. You just wanted it to end. You were long overdue for a holiday.

“Suit up everyone,” you said, standing up and walking towards your room. “It’s showtime.”

…

You felt a (dreadful) sense of deja-vu as you walked into the open grassland you first arrived at, slaughtering ten thousand highly trained military personnel. It had been cleaned up pretty well, and honestly speaking it would be difficult to for anyone to believe that a literal massacre had happened here about a week and a half ago. You were all standing in the middle of it, paying attention to everything that was happening around you as Sombra communicated to Khadija and her crew where you were. It had been a while since you were this nervous about a combat showdown. A lot of people were going to die today, by your hand, no less..

And just like old times, you didn’t like it.

This, right here, was probably the only reason you despised being a sniper so much. Unlike frontline soldier like Reaper and Morrison, it always took you time to set up and time to decide how to land your shots. You were supposed to be stealthy, in the background, and land that one deadly and precise shot that would either make things clear for everyone else or turn the tides of the battle. With all this time you had, more often than not you had to time to introspect, to think. Did the victim have a family? Did the family know that this individual was going to die in a few minutes? Did the  _ victim  _ know they were going to die in a few minutes? Was there any redemption for you, a cold-blooded murderer?

The difference between snipers like yourself and your mentor and frontliners like Reaper and Morrison is that at the moment, when adrenaline was high and enemies were bombarding everyone at the same time, frontliners didn’t have the time to think about all these things, to introspect about the victims and how taking another life would weigh down on their conscience. They didn’t have the time to ask themselves how far into inhumane, murderous, monsters they could go, because then the only thing their brain was focusing on was surviving, living again one more time to do this all over again sometime in the near future, pump anyone and anything with so much lead from shot guns and pulse rifles that as much as breathed until they looked like sieves, because if they didn’t, they were the ones that would be looking like sieves. You were aware frontliners thought about his stuff sometimes after the deed was done, when the adrenaline had died down and they were packed like sardines in a can in some chopper to be taken to the barracks before they did this again.

Over your career in Overwatch and later Blackwatch, you had come to realise that snipers were generally the most cynical and self-aware individuals in the entire organisation. They knew what they were, what they had become, and everyone else thought they were rude and snobby because they always made it a point to tell everyone else not to expect to be afforded mercy when they, more than once, had afforded others none.

Unfortunately such was life. Someone had to do that kinda job, risk their own humanity so the humanity of the greater human race could be preserved. You smirked. Honestly the lengths the human mind could go to justify it’s own irony, it’s own brutality. Human beings were, indeed, the worst monsters of them all, but here we were, using terms like “it’s a job that someone has to do” to justify just how horrible we truly were as a species.

It was a grim realisation, one that, you think, you had reached when you were far too young.

“They’re coming,” Sombra said, and you all stood there, all of you except Widowmaker, who had taken her position in the trees.

You heard steps on the leaves, through the grass. Multiple steps of multiple people walking towards you.SUddenly, they begun to be visible, Khadija, followed closely behind by Joseph, Morrison and Zeigler.

“So you did keep your promise,” Khadija said, her voice slightly quieter, but just as vicious as before. Zeigler was clutching her pistol in her hands, and Morrison had his pulse rifle on his shoulder.

You huffed. “Honestly, what do you take us for?”

“Terrorists affiliated with an international terrorist organisation going around the world murdering people,” Mercy said, her accented voice sharp.

Reaper turned to her, and even through his mask you and everyone else, you were sure, could literally feel him shading her. “You, the greediest person known to mankind, affiliating herself with a known human trafficker for your own means, is really taking a high moral ground here?”

She bristled, and you were sure her face was turning red. “Overwatch never appreciated my efforts, or anything I ever did for hem as a whole,” she spat. “I worked so hard for that organisation, and I got rewarded with nothing.”

You rolled your eyes. “So you didn’t really get into Overwatch because you wanted to save people, you just wanted money. You relied on the fact that you were a young, white, blonde, skinny woman, an all you had to do was go and cy about how war took our parents from you and you were in, looking for ways to accumulate as much money as you possibly could.” You laughed incredulously, shaking your head. “I was there busting my ass off going through sniper training when all I had to do was bleach myself, dye my hair blonde, straighten it and constantly have blue contacts on an Overwatch would immediately hire me.”

She said nothing, glaring at you.

“You were privileged and greedy, and instead of sorting your shit out and using your privilege to disassemble the systematic discrimination in place against people not like you...do you see why I fucking hate you, Zeigler? Do you see why, all those years I couldn’t stand your shitty ass in my life, but I was forced to endure and deal with your shit on an almost daily basis? You’re a racist piece of shit, and I quite frankly can’t wait to waste you. When you get to hell tell your parents and Lucifer Otete sent you.”

She was opening her mouth to respond, but you didn’t want to hear it. You raised your rifle and shot, so point blank and so forceful that her entire head exploded, blood, brain and bone matter splattering all over as her body fell backwards. You didn’t even notice anything else that was happening around you, until you saw Morrison fall flat on his back, his visor shattered, eyes wide, slowly dimming as the life force drained from his body. You gasped, seeing the cartridge of a shotgun next to him, feeling more than seeing Reaper appear beside you.

“We could have had so much Gabe, if you could have joined me we could have done so much more,” he gasped, looking at him. Your heart squeezed in your chest. You never liked Morrison but even you couldn’t deny it. Despite everything that had happened between them he still loved Gabe with everything he had.

“We tried, Jack, but look where that got us,” Reaper - no, _ Gabe  _ \- said, as you watched his fall from under his mask, mourning his first ever love. “Rest in peace,  _ cariño, _ ” he whispered as he leaned down to close Jack’s eyes, now lifeless. “I wish we could have had more of what we once shared, and I hope whatever deity you believe in atones you for your sins.”

You turned away, your own grief overwhelming you, not helping the jealousy and spite you still held in your heart. Gabriel was only mourning his first ever love, who he was forced to end and here you were, still bitter and jealous, even after all these years. You sat on the grass, your forehead on your knees, your rifle on the ground and sobbed like a child. You thought you had let out all his pain and grief out that one morning after Gabriel had made love to you, but apparently not. You didn’t even know what you were crying for, just that these hot tears were those of anger and bitterness, because despite everything, you still couldn’t get over the fact that the one man you loved, loved the one man you despised.

You were so fucking selfish, honestly. You truly hated yourself.

Despite all your emotions, you heard a shot, then another one, before bodies dropped to the ground, one after the other. WIdowmaker probably. You then felt a hand on your back, and you looked up, face a mess of tears and snort at purple, perfectly manicured nails. Sombra helped you up, and you saw her struggling to contain her laughter.

“You’re such an ugly crier,  _ señora.” _

In the distance, you heard Gabe choke. How rude.

…

“Thank you for your hard work these past months. I’m glad to tell you you have completed your mission,” Emma said through the holo from wherever the fuck she was. You honestly didn’t care at this point. You just wanted to go home, sleep for a month then go visit your family. Then maybe go see your psychiatrist. There was a lot of previously buried shit that had been brought up that you needed to address, clearly.

“Ms Otete, I will have your money wired to you within the next twenty four hours. WIth Khadija’s death we can now dismantle our competitors since their main information system has been eliminated. I truly appecia-”

“Cut with the bullshit and tell me if I can fucking go. I’m not in the mood for this PR bullshit. You don’t appreciate jack shit of my efforts, so stop fucking pretending,” you snapped, still upset from hours earlier. You still had a lot of crying to do and it was another seven hour flight back to Kilifi. You didn’t have time to waste with these shitty-ass meetings.

Emma said nothing, but you noticed her narrowing her most likely newly botoxed eyes, but you didn’t give a fuck.

“Very well. You shall have an aircraft transport you to your residence. I hope to work with you again soon.”

“I don't. Peace.”

You turned around, walking towards what you assumed was your chopper back. Widowmaker and Sombra followed you.

“It was a pleasure,  _ madame,  _ Widowmaker said, sounding bored t the gutters as usual. You couldn’t help a half smile.

“A pleasure too, Widowmaker.”

Sombra pulled you into a hug, greatly shocking you at first. She held you tight before you relented, returning her embrace. You stood there like that for about five seconds. She slowly pulled away, and despite the devious smik, you could see the hidden emotion in her eyes.

“I promise to keep in touch,   _ señora.  _ Don’t die before y’all hook up again. I know it’s kinda late for you to get babies with  _ amigo,  _ but a couple of more-”

“Bitch shut you perverted ass up,” you interrupted, your voice dry, but her quiet chuckle communicated to you that she had acknowledged your message. She may have had dodgy motives in her involvement in Talon, but at least you knew you had made a friend. A  _ genuine  _ friend.

You didn’t want to face him. You doubted your heart could take it, but just as you were about to climb your chopper, whose pilot was setting up, he shifted in front of you, and without a word, placed a kiss on you forehead, before shifting away again. You choked back your tears, willing yourself not to give in to the loss. You would have plenty of time to cry when you got home. Refusing to look behind, you climbed into the aircraft, and you were soon out of there.

Was he past still catching up or were you done? You’d have to wait and see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could say I'm sorry.
> 
> Y'all love angst anyway.


	20. A companion

It felt good to be back home.

It had been about two months since the disastrous mess that was the mission with Talon. As usual, you had no problem with the people you worked with - you very vividly remember sleeping with the leader, actually - but it was the bureaucracy, the people in charge that irritated you and got on your last nerve, but really that wasn’t even the worst of it.

It had been a tough past two months. Not quite as tough as the time when around your diagnosis of your various mental illnesses, but it was still pretty up there. Reaper (Gabe?You  _ still _ weren’t sure how you should address him, and when you brought that up with your shrink he told you to address him how you felt you should, which really didn’t help you, but you were digressing) coming back into your life had been the double edged sword you knew it was going to be. You were genuinely happy that he was there, that he understood what you felt for him and that he could kind of reciprocate in his own weird way. At the same time, however, it  _ annihilated  _ you, mentally and emotionally. You thought you dealt with all your baggage from Overwatch and Blackwatch after it was blown to smithereens when you were in some hotel in São Paulo. You thought that with that explosion, all your emotional pain of unrequited love (Gabriel) and mutual hatred (Angela and to some extent Jack) and never-ending devotion (Ana) had ended, but how wrong you were.

Instead it was just buried in the depths of your subconscious, temporarily suppressed as you dealt with the grief of having lost your entire life and everything you worked and strived for, and Reaper coming back into your life brought everything back to the surface again, and this time, you couldn’t run away from it. You were way too old to run away from it. Some things it honestly wasn’t worth growing old with.

The flight from Malabo to Kilifi was one of the longest seven hours in your life, and considering you were an ex-sniper of the black orps branch of an organisation, that said a lot.  _ A lot.  _ It took a huge amount of mental and physical restraint not to burst out in tears on that chopper, because for every second you did not let your tears out you felt a fraction of your heart shatter some more, because for the second time in your life the only man you ever loved with everything you had had left you. Not because he (or you) wanted to, but because of the circumstances you were both in. You always though that you were getting more  blasé as you grew older, but it turned out that human mind is exceptionally powerful when it comes to self-preservation. You knew that if you brought up all your memories and allowed your past to catch up with you, you weren’t quite sure you’d be able to handle it emotionally.

When you got home you so exhausted, too exhausted to even do basic human duties like shower and eat, so you told yourself you’d just go to bed and take a half hour nap, but you passed out. You slept for seventeen hours straight, the longest time you had ever slept in your life. You got up the next day filthy and hungry, and though you had an overwhelming need to cry, you dragged yourself into the shower, went to the kitchen to fix yourself something remotely edible (all you had was dried beef, so you stuck that in the microwave to at least make it chewable) ate it, before you went back to your room to try and do grocery shopping and have it delivered. You didn't have the strength to even leave the house, let alone do adult responsibilities like go buy food and other amenities for your house.

You somehow managed to hold yourself together long enough to do the shopping, wait for it to be delivered and kept everything where it meant to be, then you broke down. Right there in your kitchen, you just fell on your knees on the floor and sobbed quietly, face in your hands for about an hour or so, you weren’t too sure. All you did was cry and cry and cry. You cried for yourself, you cried for Reaper. You were sure you even shed some tears for Jack Morrison. You knew how it felt to love so deeply and still have it not work out in the end. In fact you were living it right that second. There was definitely no love lost between the two of you, but you hoped, at least, that his soul would rest in eternal peace.

You cried so much and so hard that you developed a terrible headache. You went to your bathroom to wash your face, and your eyes were so red and so swollen you looked like  a druggie. You popped a couple of sleeping pills that your psychiatrist had been very kinds to subscribe to you and went back to sleep. This time, you slept for about nine hours straight.

You woke up in the middle of the night, and impulsively booked a hotel in Mauritania for a one month holiday. It was going to be boring and repetitive, just sitting in a hotel and eating and sleeping, but at the time you were operating somewhat on autopilot. You then went online and bought the next (most reasonable) ticket for a flight out. It never really occurred to you what you were doing until you were at the immigration queue in Port Louis, waiting to have your passport stamped, before being led by your chauffeur to your hotel.

Your holiday was neither as boring or as mundane as you thought. For the first couple of days you barely left your room, only leaving to give enough time for the room to be cleaned and toiletries replaced, but you just slept and ate, with exceptions when you’d go to the gym then go for a swim. You carried multiple books, and when you weren’t asleep you were reading. There were times where you went for up to 72 hours with very little to no sleep, because you’d have dreams of the better times you spent with your love, and more than once you had woken up with tears streaming down your cheeks, tears you never bothered wiping. You were aware you’d be in a state of sadness for a while.

Regardless, you did quite enjoy yourself. Despite your best efforts (the gym, multiple laps in the pool, jogging on the beach) you managed to put on just a little bit of weight, which you swore you’d lose when you got back home, and there were multiple activities that you could do: horse-riding, hikes, rock climbing and tracking were what you focused on. Sometimes you would leave your room late in the evening and go for a stroll on the beach. The weather was always absolutely lovely and water warm and clean, as blue as the late Morrison’s eyes, and more than once you had been reduced to sobs of grief. More than once you found yourself mourning, and though you got sick of it real quick, you understood that you had to do it, it had to happen. Quite frankly you did far more crying in that month than you ever had in your adult life, and very many times you had to remind yourself that crying was healthy and necessary for your to function properly. Wasn’t your shrink in for a trip.

The moment your one month in Mauritius was up, you went home, and the very next day after arrival you were in your psychiatrist’s office. You remembered how she begun by exchanging greetings and telling you how it had been a while since she last saw you, but then she took one look at your face and she knew. She immediately went and brewed some tea, and she sat, prepared to listen to, well, a lot.

You spoke, continuously for about twenty minutes. Of course you didn’t tell her you were a sniper-assassin for fire, and you left out a whole lot of details: Talon, Khadija, Reaper and his condition...but you were surprisingly candid about your feelings and your...whatever the fuck it was you had going on with Reaper. You told her about Zeigler, your continued antagonism towards her and her tragic death ‘in an accident’, and, of course, Morrison, with his tragic death ‘from sickness’ and how you couldn’t stop mourning for him, despite how much you allegedly despised him. You were honestly surprised at how steady your voice was, and at no point in time did you ever break down into tears. All you were doing was stating facts, seeking help for your issues.

Apparently you were suffering from grief because you had been suppressing your emotions for so long, so now you couldn’t keep them in anymore they were coming out all in one go. That generally seemed to explain why you couldn’t go a week without crying, and you were told to take a break from everything. Just get away from familiarity and go do something that you enjoy and you would probably be fine. You saw absolutely no problem with that, because honestly you seemed to be feeling a little better, so it wouldn’t hurt if you could do it again, but not just book a hotel in another country and take a flight and disappear. It seemed like it was time to go visit your family.

You gave then a three day notice, and the second you got home you started packing. You told your parents you’d be around for a month, and because you didn’t want to deal with so many unnecessary questions (where you had been for the past couple of months, why your phone was off, did you have a boyfriend yet, etc) you decided to just rent a serviced apartment for the time. It would also be a good excuse to have your nieces and nephews over when their parents were at work.

Not to mention they wouldn’t ask you about the hot mess that was your love life. How the fuck were you supposed to tell people you had been and still were hopelessly in love with an undead super soldier war hero for the better part of two decades? You couldn’t even tell your fucking psychologist.

For a moment you had forgotten why you never visited your family very often, but the moment you arrived at your parents’ house they were quick to ask you how work was, and work was the  _ last  _ thing you wanted to think about. Granted what your actual job description was and what they thought your job description was were two extremely radically different things, but still. You were there to forget about work. Of course upon reminding them of this they respected your wishes and never brought up an issues of work again, but there were a couple of nights where you had to leave your pillow by the window, so that it could dry up in the morning, because of how damp it was due to your crying the previous night.

Regardless, family time was fun, and it was time to make the long drive back to your own home. Your brother promised to come visit you with the kids sometime, and now you were here, ready to open up your network and see if anyone had tried to contact you to world hop and put a bullet in someone’s head somewhere in the world. Though you still had a lot of issues to sort out, at least you knew what they were, and you could get to systematically doing what you had to do to get yourself back to track. It was going to be a long and difficult road, but you were sure you could make it. Not that you really had much of a choice if you were being frank with yourself.

The weather was actually nice, and the humidity wasn’t quite as stifling as you knew it could get. There was a soft breeze, and you honestly couldn’t wait to go into the kitchen to fix yourself a nice drink and watch the ocean. It was even doubly great because you would get a chance to witness the sunset, and it had been a while since you did that. A really long while.

After going up to your room and unpacking, sorting out the dirty from clean clothes, you put on your headphones and headed to the kitchen to prepare your dinner, fixed yourself a nice, tall glass of mojito and headed off to the balcony outside your room, to look at the ocean and listen to the breeze and hopefully watch the children play on the beach. It had been far too long since you were last this serene, and when you were cleaning your dishes, there was a firm knock on the door. You frowned, not expecting anyone to come visiting.

You just about nearly collapsed when you opened the door to see who was standing there, with massive suitcases. The cab he’d come with was leaving your driveway. You were about to ask yourself the fuck you hadn’t heard it, then you remembered you had headphones on, so obviously you weren’t gonna hear it.

“Wh-What-What the fuck...are you doing here?” you somehow managed to ask when you were able to get your jaw somewhat functioning again. You tried swallowing, a difficult feat, considering how dry your throat had become.

He smirked at you, crimson eyes twinkling, leaning against your door frame. “Wow,  _ cariño.  _ And here I thought you’d be much more welcoming to me.” His voice, though still retaining that trademark gravelly quality of his, sounded nonchalant, almost bored. He was looking very, well, normal. Black long-sleeved button up, fingerless gloves, black jeans and a black beanie, with black boots. He honestly looked like a tourist, and he looked more in his late thirties as opposed to his mid fifties.

“How the fuck did you know where I live?”

“Sombra.”

“That’s fucking illegal.”

“Like your job description?”

“Says the mercenary semi-contracted to a terrorist organisation.”

He chuckled, and you felt that very familiar sensation at the pit of your stomach. You hated him so fucking much for making you feel so intensely for him.

“May I come in,  _ hermosa?” _

“No.”

He sighed. “You want me to explain to you why I flew halfway across the world to come back to you at your doorstep?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. It seemed casual to anyone else, but you knew this man a bit too well.

“I want to be with you. You’re all I’ve got now. Everything and everyone else I once held dear and fought so hard for is gone. I’d been so caught up in my quest for revenge that for a hot minute I didn’t consider that if I put my efforts or motivations to finding those who are still worth finding I’ll still find them. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that Emma and her hoard hired you for that job we did, but when I found you I refused to lose you again.”

You eyed him. You knew he was saying the truth, but this man had caused you so much turmoil in the near past.

“You done popping heads of the people that destroyed Overwatch?”

“No. But I need a well-needed break. There’ll be time for that later.”

You eyed him some more. He seemed so unmoved at your scrutiny.

“So how long do you intend to stay here?”

“As long as you let me.”

“Does the state know you’re here?”

“They know I’m a director in your company. I have a five year contract, renewable at the end.”

You blinked. “I...don’t have a company.”

He smirked again, and it dawned on you just what exactly was going on.  _ Fucking Sombra. _

“You do now.”

You threw your arms in the air. “Oh for  _ fuck’s  _ sake. Couldn’t you at least bloody call and ask?”

“You’d say no.”

You were about to open your mouth to argue, but he was right. Grumbling, you moved to the side, allowing him to carry his multiple pieces of luggage into the house. He was walking up the stairs. 

“Do you even know where you’re going?” you asked, following him.

“I’ll find your room eventually.”

“Who said you’re sleeping in my room?”

“Don’t pretend like you’d rather I sleep anywhere else,  _ dulzura.” _

You blushed. God fucking dammit.

“And how can you carry all that shit on your own?”

“I’m an undead super soldier.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Oh? That’s not what you said when I last railed you into-”

“BYE!” you yelled, as you turned right back around and headed back to the kitchen. You still had to finish your dishes and fix yourself another stiff drink. What even was happening?

You sighed, carrying your drink out to the beach. Reaper was suddenly next to you, beanie off and barefoot.

“Sunset is really beautiful,” he murmured.

You couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah. It is.”

The past had finally caught up, and quite frankly, it wasn’t that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are folks. We have reached the end.
> 
> Thank you so much for sharing this journey with me. I apologise that this last chapter was just all boring disposition, but I felt it was important for the conclusion of everything.
> 
> I will see y'all on my next journey of thirst. Peace!


End file.
